


Roles and Raptures

by Gohans_Onna2



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Abandonment, Abortion, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Betrayal, Canon Continuation, Character Death, Depression, Divorce, Erotica, F/M, Friendship/Love, Love, Mass Death, Miscarriage, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Multiple Relationships, Murder, Period-Typical Sexism, Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark Non-Con/Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Prostitution, R plus L equals J, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Fanaticism, Riots, Romance, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Torture, True Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 48
Words: 231,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gohans_Onna2/pseuds/Gohans_Onna2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daenerys Targaryen has finally won the Iron Throne. But it comes at a price she does not want to pay. Marriage. </p><p>Jon Stark Targaryen has earned a name and lost the people he loved. Out of duty and devastation, he has to make choices that he never thought he would need to. </p><p>Sansa Stark has suffered through every hell imaginable. She must fight to become who she was destined to be. </p><p>Experience the loss, betrayal, and love...and watch as fire and blood meets winter and ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a Continuation/Alternate Universe. It isn't going to be perfect, but I will try to get everything as accurate as I can.
> 
> Despite what you may think, this is a love story. 
> 
> I will be adding pairings and characters as more appear in the story.

**Author’s Note** : Welcome! This is my first Game of Thrones story, and I have been working on this beastie for a couple months now. This story is extremely dark...please head the warnings of Rape/Non-Con, sex, violence, swearing, etc.

I will be adding characters and pairings as the story continues, so as not to ruin anything for anyone :P

This story is going to be HUGE. I hope you will enjoy it!

 

* * *

 

 

**Roles and Raptures**

 

Chapter One

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Jon

 

It had been nothing short of a nightmare since Daenerys Targaryen had ascended the Iron Throne. This incredibly beautiful woman, with dragons at her back, had helped him and the Night’s Watch defeat the white walkers and the Night’s King. Both of them on the backs of dragons had eradicated their foes and saved the entire realm. They went through all Seven Kingdoms, saving the helpless and killing anyone in their path that was trying to prevent the Mother of Dragon’s destiny.

Daenerys was hailed as one of the saviors of the realm and was practically a goddess amongst the common folk. They worshipped her every step and her every word.

They worshipped everything but her womanhood.

A majority of the aristocracy and High Sparrow—who she needed to back her at the beginning of her new reign in order to prevent further loss of lives and for war to not break out again—hated her and everything she stood for. Many feared another Queen Cersei, or another Mad King. She had certainly proven bloodthirsty in her take over, and now it was time for her to prove her kindness, morality, and ability to rule.

Shortly after having the crown placed upon her head, she attempted to persuade His High Holiness and his flock that it was a new era, a time where women could reign and be in positions of power like never before. The High Sparrow immediately fired back that the Seven Pointed Star stated that a woman could not rule without a man by her side. A woman was weak, full of wicked desires, and easily corrupted because of those inappropriate yearnings. Daenerys had fumed at him and the religion for almost a sennight, so angry that she was nearly unapproachable.

Jon, still very new in his role of prince, debated with her on her best options. Both of them had no problem destroying the Great Sept of Baelor and the New Gods, as neither of them worshipped those gods. Unfortunately, a majority of the kingdom did—and that would cause a revolt of untold proportions. That was something that neither of them wished. They wanted to unite the people and do whatever it took to make them happy so that they could begin repairing the damage that had been done for so many years.

Honestly, sometimes it didn’t matter if you had dragons or not.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

Jon had been watching the thick snow falling outside of the window he was sitting next to for over an hour, more or less not thinking of anything. He was at peace for one of the few times he’d had since being at King’s Landing. The horrors of the war were gone for that moment, not haunting his every step. It was dark out, and the moon could be seen peeking through the clouds and snow. It was calming.

He heard movement behind him, and he knew it was Daenerys. It had been a month or so since she had been crowned and had crowned him in turn, and the unrest was palpable in the city. She was being pressured daily to either step down to make Jon king or to marry someone of an appropriate stature. The Faith Militant surrounded the palace and controlled the city. The Unsullied were the only thing keeping them safe at this point. The temptation to use the dragons to do their will was mounting, but they were trying to avoid it.

“Jon.”

He turned and stared. Sometimes it hurt to look at her, she was so stunning. She was truly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her long silvery hair was tousled and she was dressed in an oversized dressing gown of red and black. The flames of the nearby fire were the only things illuminating her silhouette and it almost made her look like she was burning with the shadows flickering the way they were. He noticed that her feet were bare and her toes were curled against the cold marble floor.

He sat up straight. This was the first time he had ever seen her not looking perfect or covered in blood from war. This was her being vulnerable, clearly having come to him from her own bedchamber next door.

She walked closer to him, but he remained sitting. She had joked with him several times about how short she felt standing next to him. With him sitting, she was taller than him for once. She smiled softly and stroked his thick curls affectionately for a moment before she dropped her hand.

“Marry me, Jon.”

He fought the urge to recoil from her.

How had he not seen this coming? That this wouldn’t be an actual, viable option for her? Even realistically, her _only_ option? In what part of his brain, did he actually ever think for a moment that as a prince, he could marry for love? That he could have free choices, that life would be easy now? It was only harder and full of even more complications than ever before. It made him desperately miss the Wall.

He didn’t really have any options. His duty was clear. He felt his heart shudder weakly in his chest.

Jon Stark Targaryen, the First of His Name, Prince of Meereen, Prince of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and Dragonstone, Khalakka of the Great Grass Sea and Heir to Dragons, nearly fell when he went to his knee in front of Daenerys and took her hand. He could feel her fingers trembling against his palm, and knew that she didn’t want to do this either.

“I would be honored, my queen.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

He was getting married.

To his aunt, no less.

He felt his stomach roll uncomfortably as they made preparations. The amount of paperwork that had to be signed was overwhelming. He wasn’t even really paying attention to what he was signing any longer. Dany just shoved it his way, gave a brief explanation and he scrawled his signature. It mostly had to do with what his limitations of power would be once he was king of the Seven Kingdoms and other various territories. He was, essentially, going to remain with what power he had as a prince, but have the title of king. Dany would be the face and the power of the empire, not him. He was her _consort_ , to produce children with the Targaryen bloodline—not her true king—in every sense of the word.

Jon couldn’t even say that he felt slighted. He didn’t want this; his whole world had been turned upside down from the moment it was discovered who he was. Daenerys was wonderful, she truly was, but he didn’t love her. He didn’t even feel an attraction toward her _that way._ It kept him awake every night knowing that he was going to have to bed her, someone he really didn’t know and wasn’t attracted to physically. He’d barely known Ygritte, but he’d instantly had some kind of fascination with the woman and it had grown into an immature love. Maybe his future relationship with Dany could have the same thing. Maybe he could grow to love her.

He signed his name again. Her voice was tuned out at this point. Missandei and Tyrion stood nearby, handing their queen the paperwork one by one, chatting quietly with her. He also did not hear those words.

He missed Val desperately at that moment. His throat tightened as he pictured her red lips smiling at him one last time. The way she had clutched him to her in her final moments and told him that she loved him and hoped that he would miss her fucking him into oblivion. The choked laugh that he had released was the last thing that she heard and the tears pouring down his face were the last things that she had seen.

Jon stood abruptly, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in. Instantly Ser Barristan and several Unsullied stood at attention and their hands went to their weapons at the unknown threat. His hand did the same with the sword at his side, but it was more of an instinct than anything else.

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath when they stared at him warily. The look on his face clearly alarmed his future wife when he caught her amethyst orbs. She stood and placed her hand gently on his arm. “We can be done for now. Let us retire to your chamber for a bit.”

The relief he felt that she did not ask any questions was palpable. Her arm found its way through his and he felt oddly calmed by her caring touch. His heart still pounded but his anxious breathing slowed. Her small guard escorted them quickly through the candlelit halls towards the direction of the numerous royal family chambers. Two guards stood outside the thickly carved doors that traditionally belonged to the queen, and without so much as a gesture, they were both opened. Inside the palatial space, two maids were just starting to set the table for their evening meal. Dany waved away the guards and Ser Barristan, who bowed and left them in privacy. The maids went to retrieve the food. They were alone within a matter of moments.

Jon disengaged himself from her and went to sit by the floor to ceiling window he was fond of. He heard a light clicking noise against the marble floor and unceremoniously lifted his arm for Ghost to insert himself against his body. The direwolf allowed Jon to bury his face in his fur, and he fought the urge to fist his fingers in it and scream. Instead, he drew several short, panicked breaths and tried to forget the unbearable memories that kept coming back.

Ghost was the biggest source of comfort he’d had since leaving the Wall. Since all of the killing, needless death, the years of war and his own death and resurrection, he’d felt slightly unstable. Not to the point where he would go on a murdering rampage, but to the point where he highly appreciated the calming presence his friend offered. The massive creature was something that he could place his full trust in and he knew that Ghost would never fail him in anything. He would always be there. Always.

He sucked in a few deep breaths and felt his heart calm. This animal that had saved his life more times than he could count was one of the few things left in his life that he could love and care for. Ghost undoubtedly felt the same, since all of his brothers and sisters were gone in one way or another.

He saw Dany approach them out of the corner of his eye. For such a small woman, she really was fearless. Jon figured the reason why the direwolf liked her at all was because she didn’t really care how dangerous and lethal he was. She had three dragons, the most deadly things in the world, and had tamed them and was training them nearly every day. Ghost was nothing to her in terms of danger.

It probably helped that she had also personally saved Ghost’s life when they had been fighting beyond the Wall.

The wolf let out a low whine and bumped his nose against Dany’s shoulder as she raised her arms and rubbed her fingers over his soft ears. She lifted her gaze to look into his red eyes, not quite eye level with Ghost’s mouth, and Jon felt a brief second of fear that he would bite her for taking such liberties with him. But instead, to his shock, he licked her face. Dany sputtered in shock and then laughed, and then he chuckled as well, having never seen Ghost do such a thing to anyone but him.

The direwolf pressed forward just the slightest bit and she fell on her behind, making them laugh some more. Almost as if knowing that his action had caused much needed happiness, he followed the fallen woman and licked her some more. Dany was trying to fight him off and was laughing uncontrollably at the same time. Jon finally pulled him off her, scolding the direwolf for making the queen fall inelegantly onto her bottom. He didn’t really have any heat in it, as he was still amused by Ghost’s actions and Dany’s reaction. To see this creature taller than his future wife playing with her was quite the sight and made his heart warm.

He helped her up off the floor and she giggled a few times as she straightened her warm winter dress of white lambswool. Ghost sat next to them, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, watching them. Jon patted his head and thanked him silently for bringing him a moment of joy he desperately needed. He was sure that Dany needed it too.

The dinner was delivered shortly after that and they ate in relative silence. It wasn’t until Jon was sipping his wine and done picking at his meal that Daenerys cleared her throat quietly and gazed at him with her big eyes. She looked uncomfortable.

He suddenly didn’t want to be there. He took a big gulp of his wine.

“Jon...it has been a moon since we became engaged. In a fortnight we shall be married. You have been very quiet and withdrawn. It is my duty as your future wife and queen to...make you happy. You will be my third husband. I want to do everything to make sure that everything turns out right with this. I care about you. Please, tell me what I can do to make you happy.”

He stared at her, trying to ascertain what she was getting at. Why did she mention her dead husbands? He also knew that she’d had lovers before as well, both male and female. They had spoken about their past partners while they had been campaigning near Casterly Rock. After they had more or less destroyed the direct line of Lannisters, leaving only Tyrion, they’d had time to themselves to drink and have a bit of fun talking about their bygone days.

His eyes widened when he realized what she might be talking about.

“Are you...are you suggesting...”

She looked at him firmly, the Valyrian steel in her spine rearing its head. He felt his stomach churn. “I am suggesting whatever you want me to suggest, Prince Jon. You will be my husband and my king in a fortnight. If we were to lie together, a few days would not matter. Neither of us are virgins. There will not be blood upon my sheets for the realm to observe. We do not have any unclear notions of what will occur. We know how it works and what comes of it. It would be for pleasure. It could be...fun.”

Jon stared at her and tried to think of what to say without sounding like a fool. He didn’t want to insult her. She was queen after all, and his future wife. It was so hard for him to think of her in a sexual manner. He had tried undressing her in his mind multiple times, or even dreaming of what her skin would feel or smell like. He wanted to say what was holding him back was the fact that she was his near relation, but he wasn’t sure. Targaryens had been wedding brother to sister for generations. Even the Stark’s did at times. Dany’s parents were brother and sister. She was the product of incest, and their children would be as well.

Perhaps it was honor that dictated that he should wait until his wedding night?

He was honestly just trying to tell himself that those were the problems. He knew it was something else entirely.

He stood, shoving his chair out of the way in his haste to give himself some room to think. Ghost, laying near the fire, sat up and watched him with his crimson eyes as he retreated to his window. It was snowing heavily and he could barely see anything beyond a few feet.

Jon clutched his sword at his side and mentally begged his friend for some type of distraction to cease his current predicament. When the direwolf sat up and walked towards him, he nearly sagged with relief.

Then Ghost walked past him.

Jon’s eyes followed his direction and scowled darkly when he saw it was towards his bedchamber. He used his giant paw to open the cracked door and slipped inside.

 _Traitor_.

Dany had left the table and was standing near him. She looked confident and lovely, like she always did.

“Would you just prefer to wait until our wedding night?” she asked serenely, her hands held together in front of her, her violet eyes watching him closely.

He stared at her for a few brief moments, trying to decide what he should do. It was inevitable that it was going to happen. It _had_ to happen. One day he would be watching their child growing in her belly, and he felt his chest constrict at the thought of that child. It made him think of everything that had to happen to create that child...and he knew.

His next few steps had her against him and his mouth on hers. She had to stand on the tips of her toes, and his arms nearly lifted her off the floor. Her lips parted for him, and the feeling of their tongues coming together had his cock stiffening instantly. She moaned and rubbed herself against the hardness she felt, gripping his hair in her fingers to bring herself closer to him.

His hands left her back to cup her bottom, lifting her higher in his arms. Her legs struggled for a moment to wrap around him because of her dress, but she quickly let go of him and unceremoniously yanked it upwards. In the next moment her legs were wound tightly around him, her body flush against his. Her fingers found his hair once more and clung tightly, and he felt her shudder as their kiss deepened.

This kiss was different than the kisses he had shared in the past. With Ygritte he had been completely inexperienced and shy. She had taught him what she had known, but she wasn’t the best of instructors or terribly experienced herself. Their kisses had been wet and sloppy and often awkward.

Val...her kisses had been nearly violent and full of the need to control him. They had been enough to make his lips, tongue, and sometimes even his teeth bleed from the force she applied. But even through the savagery of her mouth, there had been a fierce desire that he had not experienced with Ygritte.

This kiss was a combination of both. It was firm, both of them trying to claim each other, but it didn’t hurt. Her taste was of wine and the lemon cake she had eaten after her meal, making her curiously sweet. The taste of the wildling women had had always either been metallic or bitter, more than likely because of their diets than anything. But Dany’s mouth tasted delicious, and he found himself kissing her in such a way that he nearly wanted to eat her. This was an act he had always liked, but he knew without much thought that he would love kissing this woman.

When she yanked her mouth away, his lips went to her neck. She gasped and tugged at his hair, as if wanting him to stop, so he lifted his eyes to meet hers. They were both breathing heavily and clutching at each other, and out of nowhere, they both laughed and leaned their foreheads against each other, smiling.

“Let’s go to your chambers, my khalakka,” she whispered breathlessly, peppering him with more kisses.

He looked down at her lips and saw how bruised and plump they looked already. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was coming out of its intricate braids. She was beautiful beyond tell.

He picked her up like she was a doll, making her squeal at the sudden, unexpected movement. It clearly delighted her to be handled in such a way, and he didn’t hesitate to run towards the bedchamber.

Once they were in his private chambers he kicked the door shut behind him. The only light was the fire burning in the hearth, casting flickering shadows about the room. Ghost was curled up on the large rug, facing the flames, probably feigning sleep. The bed loomed before him, with her still clinging to him. He caught her eyes once more before he took several long strides towards the enormous entity that was his bed and tossed her upon its surface.

The wild look on her face at the gesture had him ripping off his sword and throwing it in a corner somewhere. At the sound of the loud clang, she began quickly pulling at her dress, much more violently than he would have thought of her. At the sound of cloth tearing, his mind nearly went blank with lust.

His clothes were gone within moments. He honestly couldn’t remember ever undressing so quickly. By the time he was naked, Daenerys was still struggling with the ties on her back. She didn’t notice his presence until he was in front of her, turning her around so abruptly she gasped. He saw where the sound of the ripping had come from, where she had tried to undo the laces but hadn’t been able to. His fingers were not experienced with this manner of female dress, but he managed quickly enough. Once the ties were undone and she stood, it cascaded down her body, catching briefly on her round hips before it fell gracefully to the floor.

She was turned away from him still, her hair tumbling down her back. Her silk smallclothes were being peeled down before his eyes, and he watched as her curved hips and ass were bared before him.

He nearly choked when she turned around. Her hand lifted to her mouth to hide a smile, more than likely because of his reaction. He fidgeted on the spot as she struggled not to giggle, and then her eyes went down.

The sight of her eyes going wide made him laugh outright. She pursed her lips for a moment, but then ended up laughing with him.

“This is entirely too awkward. I don’t think I’ve ever done something as silly as what we are doing right now,” she said, moving into his arms with a delightful smirk on her face. Smiling down at her, he closed his eyes at the feeling of her breasts pressing softly against his stomach. He’d never been with a woman as short as her, or as slight for that matter, but it made him think of several possibilities that definitely brought his blood back to boiling.

She must have noticed the change in his demeanor, because she began caressing his chest. She was silent for several long moments, just touching him, when she said, “You are very beautiful, Jon.”

He opened his eyes and cocked his eyebrow at her. He had never been referred to as “beautiful” before, usually the opposite. The few women that had been in his life had been exceedingly gruff and violent and cared little for looks, and more about what was between his legs and what he was capable of in that area. It was also over a year since he had last lain with a woman, and he had grown significantly since he was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. In the two years since he had been reborn, he imagined that other things had changed about him, such as growing out of his awkward, lanky, boy’s body. His face was not as long and somber looking as it had once been. He’d been by Daenerys’ side for nearly those whole two years, and she herself had also grown an inch or two and changed.

He chuckled as he tucked her long hair behind her ear to get a clearer look at her slender face. She was staring up at him, studying his features. Her purple eyes looked nearly black in the flickering light, but it did not matter.

“You’re the one that is beautiful. Truly beautiful, in every way that could ever exist,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down her cheek to cup the back of her neck. He felt her quiver against him as she closed her eyes, enjoying his light touch.

They kissed languidly for several long moments, wrapping their arms around each other and enjoying the sensation of their skin touching for the first time in such a way. He loved how soft she was, not as obviously muscular as the other women in his life had been. He could tell there was a strength about her, especially in her legs and arms, which she used to control the dragons she rode, but she was definitely of a delicate variety that he had never known before. Every inch of her was smooth and supple, not hard. She moaned at his exploratory touch, a musical sound to his ears.

When he lifted her into his arms once more, she did not release his mouth. Their tongues dueled as they collapsed upon the bed, both shoving the coverlets and furs down away from them so they could not become tangled within them later. It was honestly the first time Jon had ever fucked in a bed, and the new sensation was something unnatural to him, but comforting. Not having his knees or back pressed into ice or dirt was gratifying in of itself.

He pulled away from her lips long enough to shift his position, and became dumbfounded at the sight of the woman beneath him. Her silvery hair was spread around her, changing color intermittently from the flickering flames, her eyes hooded and her cheeks flushed. Her lips were parted and blood red—

A horrible sensation seized inside his chest as the face and body below him morphed into another. It only took a mere second for him to cry out in horror at the sight of the woman he had loved lying dead, staring sightlessly with a large wound in her chest and blood dripping from her mouth.

He flung himself away from the mummer’s farce of a woman, knowing in his head it was not real, but unable to comprehend it at the same time. He heard Ghost bolt upright and jump onto the bed, shaking the enormous structure that kings and queens of many generations had slept and been born in. He felt a moment of fear that the direwolf would defend him against the woman behind him, but when he felt her press herself against his back and his friend allowed it, he knew that Ghost was smart enough to understand that Daenerys had not hurt him in any way.

She began crooning soft, consoling words that sounded like nonsense into his ear, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing tightly. He trembled against her fierce hold, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes, fighting the vision that kept wanting to appear before him.

She kept her hold on him, rocking him just the slightest bit. Her breasts were pressed firmly against his back and the feeling was strangely soothing to him.

She continued speaking, but her words did not make sense. He knew after a few moments of listening closely that she was speaking in another language—one that was gentle, lilting, calming. He thought perhaps it was High Valyrian, a dialect he was only beginning to learn.

They stayed like that for an unknown length of time, until his shudders were only mildly intermittent. She was stroking his hair and skin, no longer speaking. They were quiet, only the sound of their breathing and the fire crackling every so often reaching his ears. He was clinging to her arms wrapped around him, with Ghost lying next to them, as if guarding them from danger.

When he felt strong enough to turn to her, he saw where she had been looking the entire time that she had been holding him.

The dark corner where he had flung his sword in the heat of the moment, where a faint glow could be seen, pulsing gently like a nearly hidden flame.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Author's Note** **:**  Please let me know what you think! I love interacting with my readers!

 

Please keep in mind that even though I have done thorough research on the characters and story, there is just no way I can catch everything. It is very possible that I may have missed something important. Please let me know if you see something and or read something that just doesn't make sense based on the books!

 

Thanks <3

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes begin to form.
> 
> Happiness grows while desperation claws away at another...

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone! I wanted to say thank you SO much for all your great reviews last chapter! We get to see a couple more point of view’s with this one. Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Chapter Two

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Tyrion

 

“I’m sure you’ve seen the prince and the queen lately, have you not?”

Tyrion did not bother to raise his head to look at Ser Barristan. He was considering the final documents for the marriage of Daenerys and Jon, but he was still perfectly capable of acknowledging the old man whilst he did.

“If you are asking if I have seen them as in have I seen how they moon over each other? How they obviously fucked at some point within the last few days? Yes, I have seen them, if that’s what you mean.”

He looked up then when the sound of a combination snort and laugh came to his ears. He grinned at the sight of Missandei slapping her hand over her mouth, as if it would stop what had already fallen from her pretty little lips.

“Ah, I see that Missandei has also noticed the change in the soon to be royal couple,” he said, enjoying the look of dismay on her face. It was clear that she had not meant to give herself away, but had not been able to control herself at his words.

Ser Barristan was frowning at him, but it was the type of frown where he did not disapprove of the topic, but rather at the words spoken.

“Her Grace seems happy.”

Tyrion laughed outright. “Happy, Ser Barristan? I, quite frankly, have not ever seen our queen so radiant in the few years I have known her. It is obvious that whatever occurred between them a few days past has agreed with both of those melancholy fucks. Dany is practically glowing and is constantly giggling with her ladies in waiting and Dothraki handmaidens. Jon, dare I say, has actually had a smile on his face once or twice. The prince has been sending Her Grace little gifts of various kinds and escorting her about. I was present when she received the bouquet of exotic purple flowers that had her ladies melting at the mere sight, sighing covetously about how they matched her eyes,” he sighed dramatically, shaking his head as he signed the paper he had been staring at for several minutes. “And not to mention on top of all of this, Dany has mysteriously been missing from her chambers at night, isn’t that right, Missandei?”

The young girl turned to him with wide eyes. Tyrion wagged his finger at her and set aside the stack of paperwork on his massive desk. After wriggling to the edge of his seat and making the leap to the marble floor, he approached the table covered in various decanters, pouring himself more than enough to appreciate the decadent vintage.

“You cannot act like everyone doesn’t know how close you two are, my lady. Our circle of friends is very aware of how you two have been lovers for some time. Do you deny it?” he asked, staring at her over the rim of his wineglass.

She gasped, and that was when Ser Barristan stepped in. “My Lord Tyrion, I do not believe that the young lady here wishes to partake in this conversation. Yes, we are all very aware of certain situations occurring within the palace, but you do not need to be so vulgar.”

He chuckled, swirling the delectable plum liquid about his delicate chalice. “Barristan the Bold, how bold of you to come to her defense. I know very well that I am vulgar, as it is one of the things that I do so love about myself, one of the very few things, in fact. I was just trying to pry some juicy tidbits from the lady. I meant no disrespect, my dear.” He bowed in her direction, making her smile and nod. He thought it humorous what came out of her mouth following that.

“Her Grace has been missing from her chambers for the last few nights as far as I know. Ever since the marriage was proposed she has...she told me that we could no longer continue as we were. I have not always been around when she goes to sleep since she told me we could not...persist.”

Tyrion noticed how she looked down at her clasped hands and looked rather despondent. It appeared as if the young girl was sad about the queen no longer consorting with her, but they were still friends, as the queen was almost never without her by her side. He doubted that Her Grace would ever permit someone staying with her in any manner if she did not have to tolerate their presence. Missandei was loved by the queen, but not in such a way that she could not put her to the side for a marriage that would unite their kingdom.

“All in all, so far this arrangement is agreeing with the pair. Whatever has happened is for the good. I look forward to seeing the two happy together. If I had to see Jon looking dour much longer, I might have drank myself into a stupor.” He paused. “Well, perhaps not a stupor, for I do that nightly.”

Missandei laughed.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

There had been very few times in her life that she had received gifts from the heart.

She had received plenty of offerings and favors from men, women, and children, mostly in the name of the country she was currently in. Oftentimes it was to persuade her not to kill them all. She had collected various precious metals, jewels of all types and rarities, even some that she had never heard of nor saw before. Glorious fabrics that were so soft it defied logic. Colors that the eye strained to behold they were so stunning. She had been given oils and perfumes of the most incredible scents, meat and fruit that tasted so extraordinary that she still remembered the experience upon her tongue. Weapons and musical instruments from every corner of the Known World had been laid at her feet. There were even things that she had no name for and had no idea what they were meant for.

The greatest gift of all had been the eggs that had birthed her dragons, but that had been more of an offering as well. They had held no realistic value, just eggs turned to stone from the passage of time. Of course they held actual value for what they were, but they were supposedly worthless except for their beauty.

For all of the incredible things she had been offered, there were only a handful of things that she had been given that meant a great deal to her.

Her Sun and Stars had given her the silver that she had rode through the Great Grass Sea and all through the sackings of multiple cities. When she had finally returned to Meereen, her silver had been waiting for her. Since she had taken to riding her dragons regularly, her silver had not been used as much, but was still a treasured gift. She was resting contently in the stable at the Red Keep, and she intended to breed her soon.

The _hrakkar_ pelt that Drogo had gifted her was also adored. She had it laying upon her bed, where she often laid with it wrapped around her.

The new gifts currently lain before her were very dear to her, in ways that she had not expected.

After their first disastrous night together, Dany had felt a bizarre need to be there for Jon. She had known for quite some time that he was a broken soul. With the sheer amount of misfortune that had fallen upon him in the last five years alone, it was a wonder he was not completely insane.

Dany trailed her fingers along the bright purple and white petals in the grand vase before her. When the flowers had been hand delivered to her chambers by the stuttering florist himself, she had been stunned. At first she had not understood. Was there a special occasion? Was someone new attempting to ask for her hand, despite her marriage in only a fortnight?

Then it had dawned on her. The sheer extravagance of the flowers and vase, the costliness of that alone, not to mention the timing, it all led directly to Jon. Tyrion had thought the whole thing was amusing. Her ladies and handmaidens had tittered over them and her for hours.

The night before had been both lovely and troubling. The initiation of their lovemaking had been nerve-racking, but she had hoped to break him out of his shell. To bring them closer. To make him happy. To make him forget his pain.

She had honestly believed that he would decline her immediately. He was a very honorable man, and his actions towards women always exuded that. She had felt jealousy on numerous occasions towards the reactions that women had when they were around Prince Jon. The man was the epitome of kindness and righteousness, as if he was a true knight of the Seven Kingdoms. While he had never been actually knighted, she knew that he practiced the traditions, customs, and courtesies that men like her white knight Ser Barristan did.

Women adored just being near him, fawning over him and his far and few between words. She knew that a lot of it had to do with his title, but many genuinely wanted him.

_Not anymore. He is mine. And I keep what is mine with fire and blood._

She smiled wickedly as she plucked a flower from the vase. She rolled the petals along her cheek, enjoying the delicate caress. Closing her eyes, she envisioned for the hundredth time the look on his face when she had come to his room the night after their first disastrous meeting.

He had turned vividly red at seeing her, for it was the first time he had laid eyes on her since the previous night. It was obvious that he had been avoiding her, and had more than likely just stayed in the training yards all day, practicing with the other knights and warriors flocking to the Keep for the wedding.

He had tried to force his eyes to stay locked with hers, but after a few brief moments of struggle, his gaze had drifted down to the revealing neckline of her attire. She had purposefully dressed like the scandalous woman she was, modifying one of the _tokars_ that she had worn while residing as queen in Meereen. Her breasts, far more plump than they had been when she had been a girl living in that city, were nearly overflowing from the virtually transparent covering. At his heated stare, her nipples had hardened in response. She had almost gasped aloud at the mere sensation, for his look provoked powerful feelings low in her belly.

Dany blinked and found herself back in the present. She sighed dreamily and then inhaled deeply of the flower held in her hand. The scent was light but intoxicating. She had not known that there was even a florist within the city, but Jon had located a hot house nearly going out of business and had provided them much needed funds to stay afloat with his purchase. Dany had thanked him for his kindness involving their people, for it was uncommon that anyone cared about the smallfolk. Jon had explained warily that the man and his family had been the main florist used for providing blooms of all types for the nobility and Red Keep, but once things had gone downhill, his business had suffered. He then told her that he had authorized the weekly delivery of new flowers to the Keep to brighten it up, if that was acceptable to her.

In their short time at the Keep as actual rulers, it was not often that Jon asserted any type of authority. Even though he had been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and was familiar with positions of power, he did not seem comfortable in his role of prince. It came as a shock to her that he had even _asked_ if it was alright for the flowers to begin weekly deliveries once more, when it shouldn’t have even been a thought in his head.

For the few days since their first time nearly coupling, Dany had found herself in his bed. Oddly enough for her, she had not attempted to ravish him the next few evenings, despite how much she wanted to just fuck him all night long. She was in a perpetual state of arousal, just wanting to find relief within his arms. Instead, they laid together in his bed—talking, of all things.

She could not remember ever just talking to a man for so many hours on end. They would have food and drink delivered into his chambers and ordered the servants and guards away until late the next morning, letting them have total freedom. Every night they would find themselves talking into the wee hours of the morning, falling asleep mid-conversation. The laughter was contagious and so were the heartfelt words. They spoke of dark times in their pasts, and she both felt and saw Jon opening up to her more as every night went by.

The subjects that they spoke of initially had Jon acting reluctant and nervous. She had started off talking about her _Khal_ and her experiences as a _Khaleesi_ in his _khalasar_. The stories had him laughing, such as the one where she told him about how Drogo had mounted her as a horse and mated with her in front of the whole _khalasar_ , spilling himself only after moments. Her tales of humor and sadness ended up helping him start talking of his own, and they reminded her of the times they had spoken much more openly together, when they had been fighting for the Seven Kingdoms and their crowns. When he had been distracted from his sorrows.

She wasn’t sure what had changed from the time they had left their campaign to live in the Red Keep, but something had. Perhaps it was the inaction, or not understanding or knowing his new role. He had become more apprehensive, sometimes like he was afraid of his own shadow, and situations triggered reactions from him that scared her.

Whatever was happening between them, it was as if he was changing into a different man. He was more apt to talk, and she was seeing the courage he used to have return. He was finding things to do that he had not done before, such as helping the smallfolk and providing the Keep with their services. He was starting to give orders rather than expecting someone else to do it.

Apparently her words of sincere thanks for helping their people and for encouraging him to accept his role had helped.

She placed the flower in her fingers into a large book that she had sitting on the table to dry it and keep it forever. _Songs of Westeros_ stared back at her on the aged cover as she closed it, and she drew in a shaky breath as the book brought back reminiscences of someone that would always hold a complicated place in her heart.

She stood as she suppressed the memories fiercely, not wanting to dull her joy.

The flowers had arrived late the morning after their first night. After she had figured out that they were from Jon, she had felt giddy. She had believed that they were an apology of sorts, though he didn’t really have anything to apologize for. Nevertheless, it showed that he cared. Men that cared about her were a definite weakness of hers.

Over the next few days, Jon had bestowed both material and immaterial things to her. Before their third night together, he had set up a romantic fire lit dinner that had all of her favorite foods and treats. She had felt so full afterward and she had told Jon he was going to make her fat if he kept on spoiling her. She had giggled as he had carried her into his room, laying her gently upon the bed. For a few brief moments her heart had pounded, thinking that he planned on laying with her, but he had only kissed her softly, making her tremble with need as she clutched at his black tunic.

His smoldering gaze had told her that he wanted her too...and she had been frustrated when he released her.

On the fourth day, Jon had sent her an invitation to join him in the godswood, where they spent a wonderful afternoon sitting on a thick blanket under the great oak that was meant to be the heart tree. It had been warmer than usual, and the snows were mostly melted.

He talked quietly to her of the Old Gods and how he wished they were being married here rather than in the Great Sept. Dany had never personally worshipped any gods, just accepted them as deities people worshipped, but had felt an odd connection with the gods Jon spoke of. Perhaps it was the way he talked of them—they felt more primal, more real, than the Seven Gods worshipped by the majority of their people. They weren’t judgmental, they were just...there. Watching you.

When she had asked him if he would like to have a private ceremony for their family in the godswood after the one at the sept, he was overjoyed. He had picked her up and twirled her around until she was breathless from laughing, and then they had sat curled up under the heart tree, kissing and talking for what seemed like all day but had only been a few hours. Duties called, as always.

On the fifth day, Jon had taken her for a long ride outside the walls of King’s Landing, where they had explored the woods and streams. They’d had a small escort that followed far enough away that they’d had privacy. Above, all three of her dragons had played, enjoying their freedom. Ghost had trotted off shortly after they arrived in the woods, and she imagined that he was hunting.

They had raced together through the trees, across open fields, laughing and shouting with joy at the freedom they felt. Snow and mud had flown behind their horses, but her silver had never slowed, and neither had the black beast that Jon had ridden. When they had reached the Kingswood, they had dismounted to spend some time walking together, their bodies occasionally brushing against each other. She had even snuck in a few pecks on his cheek, which had made him turn pink.

During their exploration, Jon had shyly given her a bracelet that he had seen walking through King’s Landing searching for people to employ in the Keep now that the city was coming together again. The gems had sparkled a multitude of different colors, looking almost as if the jewels themselves were burning with fire inside. She had asked him to put it on her, and after chuckling and stumbling a few times with his fingers, he managed.

It was at that moment that Daenerys realized Jon was courting her.

She had flung herself into his arms and kissed him hard. When she had released him, he had been dazed and hard against her belly. She had almost thrown him to the ground at that moment, but at a distracting call from Ser Barristan that it was getting late, she had refrained. The look that she had given him promised him more to come.

That night was memorable. It was the first time that she had attempted to seduce him since their first night together, and it had worked better than she had thought it would.

She had been very careful with him, but had not given him much of a choice when she asked him to lay upon the bed. She told him to let her know if he wanted her to stop, and thankfully the words never came from his lips.

Other words had, however.

The sheer number of times he had cried “Fuck!” and “Oh, gods!” had driven her insane with desire as she had taken his cock within her mouth. She had only planned on thanking him for the gifts and enjoyable moments he had given her the last few days, and to more or less break the ice, but it didn’t entirely turn out that way.

After she had thoroughly pleasured him, he had lain upon the bed with his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide with shock. She had been caressing his chest, relishing his expression when he had rolled over on top of her and literally ripped her dress and small clothes open from top to bottom. The frail fabric had torn easily in his strong grip, and as she had gasped at the unexpected gesture, she couldn’t have been more surprised than she was when he buried his face between her thighs.

As a lover of women as well as men, she had never had this done to her by a man. During her travels and marriages, it could be weeks between bathing, and it was offensive in the Dothraki culture to lay with a man or woman in such a way. Daario had only ever been interested in having his cock in her cunt, and Hizdar zo Loraq had been both terrible in bed and immensely selfish. She had laid there much of the time with him, forcing herself not to be sick as he heaved and sweated over her with his thin manhood. Thankfully it was always over quickly.

She had not experienced such a thing until she had taken her first female lover after she had returned to Meereen with Drogon. Reshka za Yuhser had been plump and big breasted. She had fascinated Dany from the first time she had seen her, and when she had invited her to her chambers, the woman had shown her what she had been missing since she had first been introduced to sex. Their relationship had not lasted long due to Dany going to war, but it had been educational.

The only other female lover that she had taken had been Missandei. It had been more out of necessity than anything else. The girl had been raped and molested her whole life until Dany had taken her in, and she had felt the need to show her that sex did not have to be seen as something disgusting or shameful. She felt honored to have shown the girl that she could enjoy it, and it had upset her to see how sad she had been when she had told Missandei that they could no longer be lovers.

The trials and tribulations she had gone through guiding Missandei how to love her body and how to show her what she liked had taken several moons, but it had been worth it. Dany had learned more about her body and what she had liked than she had with any previous lover. It had been her that had been the more experienced, so she had been able to more or less train Missandei how to pleasure her. She had learned slowly at first, but after Dany had given her the first orgasm she’d had ever had, things had come much quicker. They had explored positions of all kinds and different ways to enjoy each other. She had become quite good at what Jon had performed on her that night.

But Jon…by the Old Gods and the New...he used his entire body to pleasure her between her legs. It wasn’t just his tongue or even just his fingers. His whole body was involved in the process, finding places within her and on her that she’d had no idea were so deliciously sensitive. The way he had contorted her body and made her move into different poses, instantly taking advantage of any sweet spots he discovered and quickly moving on from areas she did not respond well to had been intense to say the least. She had felt like he had learned more about her body in that short time than anyone had...well, ever.

She had peaked explosively the first time, very quickly and suddenly. She had been expecting that wonderful relaxing period after experiencing that type of pleasure, but Jon had not stopped. She had screamed and cried and begged him to stop because it was too much, and then suddenly she had been crying for him continue and never stop over and over again for what seemed like forever. The tears had been pouring down her face from the sheer amount of emotion and physical sensation her body was going through, gripping his hair and riding his face as he kept going on and on.

When she was done exploding one time he could flip her over, or roll her onto her side, or shift her legs another way. Sometimes he would have one finger, then two, then three inside her. He would press his fingers in places inside her that would have her falling apart within moments of having just finished peaking.

At the end, when she had honestly thought she could take no more, she had felt him slide one of his fingers _there._ In a place no one had ever been before. With his fingers in her cunt and ass, licking at her, she had screamed until her voice was hoarse, coming undone one final time.

The amount of times she had climaxed was lost on her. She had never in her life experienced such a thing and hadn’t even known it was possible. Her brain had been beyond the functioning point when he finally lifted his head, his beard, neck, and chest soaked with her fluids. He had crawled up her body to her mouth, where he had kissed her hard before lifting his head and staring down at her. She had felt the proof of his arousal pressed against her core, and would have accepted his cock enthusiastically, but he did not push her further. Instead he rolled over to her side, where he tucked them in and pulled her against him.

She had fallen asleep almost straightaway.

That had been the best sleep she had probably ever had. She had felt absurdly safe and sated, and there weren’t too many worries on her mind at that point.

When she had awoken on the morning of the sixth day, she had found a light breakfast waiting for her, along with Ghost, who seemed anxious. At first she had been worried that the direwolf was worried over something going on with Jon, but it had turned out he had been wanting her to hurry so he could escort her from the room. His bounding and wagging tail had put a smile on her face.

After she had dressed and followed Ghost, nearly skipping to keep up with him, she had found Jon in the throne room directing several workers. The room was freezing and debris was all over. Every surface had a light coating of dust.

When she had threaded her arm through Jon’s, he had jumped. She had smirked up at him naughtily, undoubtedly reminding him of the night prior if his red face was any indication.

“I had hoped that you might sleep a bit longer so that this could be completed in time, but it seems like it will take a lot longer than previously thought,” he had said, looking sheepish as he escorted her over to a large object covered in dirty canvas. When he had swept it aside, she had been silent, unable to form words.

She had understood then why the throne room had been cold. The large stained glass window behind the Iron Throne had been removed. It had been a garish seven-pointed star in the Lannister colors, something she had hated but had never thought once to replace. Apparently Jon had, though, long before they had ever begun their intimate relationship.

The new window was spectacular. Of course it was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, but the detail put into it was extremely intricate. Jon had explained nervously that he had thought of it quite some time ago and that it had been planned as a gift at a later date, but it had been perfect timing to have it completed before their wedding, where the entire kingdom could see that she reigned supreme.

“We,” she had whispered, her heart pounding as she gazed up at him with tears in her eyes. His thoughtfulness made her heart ache, and the kiss she had given him had shown him just how happy she was.

How much luckier could she be?

 

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 **Author’s Note** : We all know good things never last... Please review!

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the body is the one doing the thinking, not the mind...

**Author’s Note** : Hello everyone! Enjoy!

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Chapter Three

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Tyrion

 

“If I find you and Jon one more time in a supposedly hidden alcove fondling each other, I might throw myself off this tower.”

Daenerys’ mouth fell open for a brief second before she blushed.

“We do not fondle each other, Tyrion.”

His eyebrow jutted upward. “Then what exactly are you two doing in dark corners, giggling like two naughty septas?”

Her face turned redder before her chin jutted into the air like the proud queen she was. “Perhaps we are fondling each other. What does it matter?”

Tyrion chuckled as she admitted exactly what they had been doing. “Please, my dear. Just go away for a day or so and enjoy yourselves before the wedding. Everyone in this Keep is beginning to drive me senseless, and I think watching you two fawning over each other might just tip me over the edge.”

Dany frowned as she picked at the pleats in her warm blue gown. “I can’t just leave right before the wedding. People are expecting to see Jon and I preparing and making sure everything is running smoothly. Emissaries are arriving from all over the Known World and it would be disrespectful for me not to be there when they arrive.”

Tyrion found himself rolling his eyes as he sipped his favorite wine. “Your Grace, as I am sure you are aware, I am your Hand. It would not be a slight if I were to handle these matters in their entirety while you and Jon are suddenly overcome with a slight sickness that has you both confined to your _separate_ chambers. While you are recovering, I will gladly deal with these nobles and representatives arriving in droves.”

Dany blinked several times as she considered his words. “You truly think we could escape for an entire day without insulting anyone? I don’t know…I think that with our wedding being less than a sennight away, it would be best just to wait. Not to mention I do not get sick. I’ve only been sick one time and it was from bad water. I’ve also never seen Jon ill, though he has said he was once as a child. Maybe we could go away for a few days after the wedding. That would be more acceptable.”

Tyrion shrugged as he watched the queen of the Seven Kingdoms pace about the opulent space. The Tower of the Hand was once again his, but it had been destroyed since he had originally occupied the space. Cersei had seen to the complete and utter destruction of the tower after he had killed his father, but the previous Hand, Mace Tyrell, had taken it upon himself to have it rebuilt three times bigger and even better than before.

He had made a few changes, of course. He was a rich man, and he had been destitute for too long once he had left Westeros. He enjoyed the pleasures of wealth, and had made sure to fill the tower with everything he wanted.

His pleasure was costly, but a lot of it had come out of his own pocket. As the Lord of Casterly Rock, he now had funds at his disposal that he had never believed possible. He had forgiven all debts owed to the Lannisters so that the royal family would be able to pay back most of the debt owed to the Iron Bank with little to no trouble, considering the sheer amount of riches Daenerys had managed to obtain from her travels over the years. Between the Seven Kingdoms, such as the Vale, Dorne, and the Reach, they had been able to amass enough wealth to pay back the bank. They were only paying back the interest now, which would be gone in about two years, unless their incomes changed.

The space was much more comfortable and not so much in the military style of his father and the previous Hands before him, but instead was obviously meant for a wealthy man like Mace and himself. Daenerys had initially scoffed at the sheer sumptuousness of it all, but more often than not, he found her visiting him and enjoying the luxuries. Many times their council meetings were held here, where everyone thoroughly enjoyed the chambers.

Right now, she was reclined on an overstuffed crimson divan, gazing out of the window. Snow had not fallen for over a week and was a good sign. Many were hoping that winter would be ending soon, but no word had come from Oldtown.

“I think I will talk to Jon about it and see what he says,” she said offhandedly, sighing in that way she had recently started doing, more than likely some female thing he guessed. She was probably daydreaming of Jon’s cock.

Tyrion thought for a moment before he opened his mouth, something that was rare. “Jon seems like he is going back to his normal self. More or less.”

She turned from her spot to look at him, her stunning eyes wide and hopeful. All she needed to do was clasp her hands together and look dreamy and the picture would be complete. “You think so?”

He shrugged as he began shuffling through several stacks of papers, trying to locate the last few documents for the wedding that he wanted to triple check. “I met Jon long before you did, my queen. We spent quality time together on our travels to the Wall, and we also had deep and interesting discussions at that desolate place. He was a young boy then, but you can see the tiniest glimpses of that boy when he is with you. He was a somber lad then as he still is, but he was much quicker to smile and laugh then. He even had a bit of a sense of humor. His devotion to his family was profound. Losing them...and his life, changed him. Amongst other...various losses.”

Tyrion had been present at some of those losses. Not only that, but with him going from  a bastard to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch to a prince after Daenerys had named him kin, he had not stayed the same boy. He was a man now, but not the man Tyrion had thought he would become. He wasn’t bad in any way, but he also wasn’t fully there in the head at certain times.

Tyrion more than likely had beheld more breakdowns of Jon Stark Targaryen than any other person in the Seven Kingdoms. For all of the terrible things he had witnessed him go through and do, it was a wonder the boy was able to hold it together like he did. Then again, he himself had done some terrible things, and he didn’t think he was crazy.

Daenerys was looking contemplative as they sat quietly. The fire was crackling in the hearth but needed another log or two. He thought of getting up to do just that when she sat up, saying, “I must see him. He has been oddly subdued today. Normally I receive a missive or two from him by now.”

Tyrion heard something in her words and stopped her quickly before she left the Tower of the Hand. “Daenerys, if I may...Jon is very fragile. This sudden change in your relationship...do not push him too hard. I don’t want to see either of you hurt. We all have fought for this family, and we only have each other. Be careful.”

He saw the confusion on her beautiful face before she chewed her lip and hurried away, her guards meeting her at the entrance before they followed their mistress to Maegor’s Holdfast.

 

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Daenerys

 

“I think you would enjoy the Great Grass Sea, Jon. To see Vaes Dothrak, meet people of another culture, live such an ancient lifestyle. I will have to teach you Dothraki customs of course, and the language. But it came quickly to me, so I am sure it will for you as well. You’ve seen my handmaidens and dealt with them from time to time, so you aren’t completely unaware.”

He was mostly silent as they ate dinner. A few nods here and there and murmured words were all that she was getting from him. She was worried something was wrong, and had asked as much, but he had declined her worries. He was flexing his burned hand quite often, and she wondered if it pained him. His many scars sometimes bothered him, especially if the weather abruptly changed, which it had. The snows had begun late afternoon, shortly after she had left the Tower of the Hand. It fell heavy and thick, as if it wanted to bury the city.

“I can have Grand Maester Hyndyll bring you a poultice or milk of the poppy if you want, Jon,” she said softly, reaching for his hand, which he did not have covered with the glove he typically wore to cover the barely-there scars. She had told him long ago that it did not bother her to see his hand marred in such a way, but he had not stopped wearing his gloves in her presence until the last few days, and only when they were alone.

He jerked his hand away before she could touch him. She blinked at the sudden reaction, and he muttered an apology that did not seem entirely sincere. She searched his face to find the answers to his moodiness, but nothing came to her.

In that moment she was tempted to spit some fire, but at the last second refrained when she remembered Tyrion’s words from earlier. Perhaps something had happened and he was upset.

She stood instead, shaking out her lavender skirts. It was one of Jon’s favorite dresses, and she had noticed him admiring her when she had first entered his room for the evening meal. She had figured that there would be a night of delights to follow, but now she was not so sure. Perhaps she could change his dreary mood.

As she stood, Ghost lifted himself from his place by the roaring fire and walked to her side. She hummed with amusement as he brushed against her, purposefully nearly knocking her over in that odd affectionate way he had recently adopted with her before he stuck his wet nose in her ear, nudging her.

She followed the direwolf to the entrance of Jon’s bedchamber. She looked back at him before she entered the room and said, “I will be waiting for you.”

Her clothes were shed quickly, as she wanted to have herself arranged on the bed in the most enticing pose possible for when he came in. She had barely relaxed upon the surface when he entered the warm room, his head down, closing the door with a soft click. When he turned, he saw her entirely naked and reclined on her side, her head resting in her hand and her fingers lazily tracing the curve of her hip.

She bit her lip as she watched his hands fist and his body visibly shake. Sometimes his reactions to her, whether she was nude or dressed, had her wanting him so bad it hurt. It was obvious at this point that he was trying to wait until their wedding night before they actually had physical relations, but it was only a handful of days away, and she didn’t see why she couldn’t try to tempt fate as she had just the other night.

“Daenerys, I—”

She shook her head as she shifted her position, getting on all fours as she crawled towards him slowly in a predatory manner. He had moved to the edge of the bed, but instead of going into his arms, she turned completely around at the last second and fell forward, raising her bottom into the air. She flung her long hair aside and looked back at him over her shoulder, trying to appear as seductive as possible.

“I want you, Jon,” she purred, waving her ass back and forth in a hypnotizing manner. His hands reached out to grasp the tempting morsels of her flesh, and she moaned low in her throat as he squeezed.

“I want to feel your cock, Jon. I want you inside me. I want to scream your name over and over again,” she whispered over her shoulder. She heard him draw in a sharp breath at her words, and in the next moment, she felt one of his fingers trail down the cleft of her plump buttocks. The path his fingertips followed was slow and torturous, until they found the bundle of nerves that was the source of her pleasure. She cried out in delight as he touched her there for a few long moments, stirring the warmth inside of her until she was thrumming with need. 

When his inquisitive fingers left the place she wanted touched the most and found her entrance, slowly sliding inside, she moaned loudly and arched her back, feeling her thighs quiver at the deliberate tease. His free hand was caressing her back and behind, until it moved around her thigh to find the tiny nub that she wanted touched so desperately.

She felt her whole body start to tremble. His pace continued the same slow, erotic movement, making her cry out into the furs on the bed over and over again. She was pushing back against his finger, begging for more, but he would not give it. Her muscles were beginning to convulse and she knew that she would explode at any moment, but she did not want to. She wanted him, not his fingers.

“Please, Jon,” she whimpered, her eyes starting to water. She was quivering uncontrollably, fighting the need her muscles had to clench down and shatter.

She gasped in near pain when both of his hands left her. Before she could turn, she heard the sounds of him undressing, and quickly flipped over, hoping against hope that he would finally fuck her and make her his.

“Oh, yes,” she said eagerly, watching as his clothes dropped to the floor. He was naked in only a few seconds, and her eyes went straight to his hard cock, ready to expire if he was not within her in the next instant. He moved to crawl onto the bed, and she spread her legs wide, her breasts heaving as her hands reached urgently for him. Her fingers curled around the thick length of his manhood, and she squeezed him as he came closer to her core. He hissed at the feeling of her soft hand as she rubbed the head of his cock against the wetness there.

She didn’t think she had ever wanted a man as much as she wanted Jon. If his skills with his tongue and fingers were any indication, she knew that she was going to enjoy every second of their joining. She jerked her hips against his length, not able to stand it any longer.

“Jon...my prince...I—”

“I can’t.”

It took her a moment to comprehend his words, and it was only when the heat of his body left hers that his words registered. She sat up, confused, as she watched him begin to jerk on his clothes.

“What—I don’t understand. Where are you going, Jon? What’s wrong?” she asked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable in her nakedness. She jerked a fur over her as he yanked on his boots and stood.

“I can’t. I just can’t. You...you wouldn’t understand. I have to go,” he said, his last words sounding like he was trying not to cry. She had only ever seen him cry one time in the two years she had known him, and fear sliced through her.

“Don’t go,” she said quietly, her hand reaching out for him, her eyes begging him not to leave.

He couldn’t meet her gaze. He stared at Ghost instead, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms stand on end. The way the two looked at each other, she swore that they could talk in a language they both understood. The direwolf snorted and shook his head as if nodding, and Dany watched as Jon walked out of his bedchamber, slamming the door behind him.

She felt tears fall down her cheeks, and she didn’t know why.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

The snow had not stopped. It was as if the gods were mourning.

She had the city watch on shoveling duty and constantly patrolling to make sure people had enough wood to stay warm.

She was in Jon’s room, laying dejectedly on his bed after his desertion of her the previous night. No one had seen him since he had left, and she was worried about him. There had been no trace of him for hours, except for the palace guard to say that he had left the Keep. He had declined an escort, and when he had been pressed by Ser Barristan, he had drawn his sword and threatened them all to leave him alone. The sight of his sword was enough to scare everyone off.

Ser Barristan had told her that he’d had the prince followed, but with the weather and the prince being quicker of wit than his pursuers, he was quickly lost amongst the city buildings.

“Your Grace.”

She rolled over to see Ser Barristan standing in the doorway. She sat up, suddenly afraid at his demeanor. He looked like he was afraid to talk.

“Drogon is gone, Your Grace.”

She closed her eyes.

Jon had left her.

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s Note** : Daenerys is too young and inexperienced to understand that sometimes one’s state of mind is too fragile to handle certain situations, especially a person like Jon, who has lost too much. Her body will end up betraying her in the long run...

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is falling apart.
> 
> The worst has come for one who does not deserve it.
> 
> ***HEED ARCHIVE WARNINGS FOR RAPE IN THIS CHAPTER***

**Author’s Note** : Hi everyone! I really wanted to post this chapter so I did it early :D It is pivotal and you really get to see into the minds of some of the characters. However, **this chapter is where most of the warnings come into play**. Please keep that in mind as a lot of what is written can upset some readers.

 

High Valyrian and Dothraki will be used throughout the chapters now that the story is progressing. You can see definitions at the end of the chapter. 

* * *

 

Chapter Four

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Jon

 

_“Protect her, Ghost.”_

It had been so hard to leave her like that. To pretend not to see the tears in her eyes, to deny her what she wanted of him.

_“I can’t.”_

He closed his eyes against the freezing wind rushing past him. Drogon was gliding high above the frozen lands below them, his enormous wings beating against the icy air as they pushed farther and farther away from King’s Landing.

He had been gone three days.

He hadn’t eaten in two of those days. Fortunately water was everywhere in the form of snow, but food was scare. When he had left her, tousled and hurt on his bed, he had grabbed nothing but the clothes he’d been wearing, a thick fur cloak, and his sword. He had forgotten his gloves, which he had left on the table they had dined at, and any form of currency.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t survive on his own. He knew how to do that perfectly fine. But it usually required the need to want to, which he lacked.

Drogon had only stopped long enough to rest, which he required little of. Jon spent most of his time just sleeping in the saddle, his trust in the beast great enough that he had no worries about falling.

He patted the dragon along one of his deadly splines, and Drogon snorted, two large plumes of smoke blowing back at his rider. Jon found himself barking out a laugh.

“Are you tired, boy? We can stop if you want,” he said, rubbing his burned hand along his red and black ridges. The odd rumble the dragon let loose meant that he was fine.

For some reason unbeknownst to Jon, Drogon absolutely adored him. Shortly after Daenerys had landed at the Wall, ready to help defend her future kingdom, Drogon had become his.

Dany would forever be jealous about the ridiculous amount of affection Drogon doled out to him. The dragon was playful in a way that he had never been with Dany, and it had made it exceedingly easy to learn to ride and train with him. If it hadn’t been for the black and red dragon taking such a liking to him, he doubted he would have ever gotten on the back of any of her dragons, no matter what his bloodline was.

He buried deeper into his cloak, knowing that if he went much farther north he would have to do something about his clothing. He was well past the Riverlands by now, and was heading in the direction of Winterfell if his calculations were correct. He would purposefully avoid that place, but he would continue on in his northerly direction.

Jon felt himself falling asleep on the back of his friend, and was reassured that Drogon cared enough for him to never let him fall.

His thoughts turned into the view of the snowy sky and the white lands under him, and he barely comprehended that he was no longer of his own mind. It gave him an instinctual comfort to know that he could let it all go, and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

“Fuck.”

Everything was a complete disaster. Jon had left over a week ago and the wedding had been three days prior. Guests dressed in their wedding finery had stood at the Great Sept of Baelor for hours before Tyrion had disgraced himself and his whole extended family before half of the world, saying that Jon had taken ill the previous night and was too sick to leave his chambers. The people had cried out, demanding to see the prince that was to unite the realm and finally end this war. They wanted proof that he had not fled.

The High Septon himself had demanded to see Jon, and only at the Grand Maester’s plea, saying that he was highly contagious, did the Sparrow leave the situation alone. For now.

Dany had not left her chambers since the wedding. Missandei was often seen running around, doing her bidding and relating anything to Tyrion as he tried to hold the city together. The nobles and wealthy were easy enough to entertain by plying them with food, fun, and sin, but the poor and needy were the ones he was the most worried about. The Faith Militant incited rage amongst the smallfolk, telling them that Prince Jon had left and was not returning to marry the queen. It was time for a man to rise and take control of the throne.

It was startling how accurate some of the stories were, for Jon really was gone. The dragon handlers in the Pit were sworn to secrecy on all things involving the dragons, and the Pit itself was heavily guarded, so no one other than a select few knew that Drogon was gone. Jon had thankfully been smart enough to take off in the middle of the night when no one would see the nearly all black dragon fly off.

The Golden Cloaks had fled the city to come behind the curtain walls of the Keep. After a dozen of them had been slayed in riots, Dany had not been willing to see anyone else killed on behalf of Jon’s absence. She said the city could fall apart for all she cared at this point. The Faith Militant could do as they wished, but she would not have the men protecting the poor being killed from doing their jobs until everything became totally out of control and would need to be handled with force. It reminded her too much of Meereen, that much was obvious.

Between a large army of Unsullied and the Golden Cloaks they were safe. Their granaries could hold for about a month or so before they would need to begin worrying about food. There were multiple secret passages that led into and out of the city should they need to escape. There was even a way to get to the Dragonpit if it was necessary. He wasn’t completely worried, but it was stressful.

One of his biggest stresses was one of the members of House Martell that didn’t seem to get the point that Daenerys was betrothed to Jon. Prince Trystane had been trying to have an audience with her since he had arrived the week before, conveniently the night Jon had left, and it had irritated Tyrion beyond words how handsome and charming the boy was. Dany had talked to him in private a few times as he was technically kin, but when pressed by Tyrion, she had not given any answers about their discussions.

Trystane had not hid his intentions from Tyrion, however.

“Prince Jon is not here. I know this. He left her and she is destroyed by it. She feels betrayed. I shall pick up the pieces and make her my queen. If Prince Jon stays gone much longer, she will fall right into my arms, and shall be mine.”

Tyrion had not believed the audacity of the young man. “Do you think the queen is stupid enough to not see what you’re trying to do? You think that a woman who conquered half the world is weak and pathetic enough to fall for your manly charms?”

The boy had smirked and leaned forward. Tyrion had wanted to punch him in his glorious face. “Everyone had a weakness, my lord Hand. Daenerys is just like you and I. Despite what you think, I don’t just want to be king to have power. I already _have_ power. I love the Seven Kingdoms. It is time it was ruled by someone who loved it. Not someone who felt it was their right to have it. I was going to be king upon Tommen’s death, because Myrcella was the last one alive. Queen Cersei was going to make it so. But when the princess was killed, it was all thrown away. My chances and the girl I loved were dead. But I will have what I was meant to have, one way or another.”

Tyrion had stood then, knowing he did not look intimidating, but hoping that his words were. “You dare threaten the queen? Me? If it is the last thing I do, I will make sure that you will never have Daenerys. She is too good for the likes of you. This kingdom deserves her as its ruler, not you. If you dare to threaten my family again, I will have you tried for treason.”

Trystane had looked amused. “Your family, my lord? If I recall, your family is all dead.”

Tyrion had felt his anger rising beyond what he knew he could control if the little fool continued. “My family is a small group of people in Maegor’s Holdfast that I have battled and bled beside to fight for this kingdom. They are a precious select few that I would willingly die for to see them live and be happy. You are threatening my family, Prince Trystane. I do not take that lightly. I suggest that you depart.”

The prince had taken leave of his presence, and he immediately ordered him followed. He had his own spies, and while not nowhere near as wide a network as Varys’ had been, it was enough for now. He would make sure the little princely rat kept his distance.

Right after the disappearance of the prince and Drogon, he’d had the Grand Maester send out ravens to several houses that he knew he could trust. He instructed them to notify him immediately if a dragon was spotted. Nothing was mentioned of Jon.

No word had come back in the days since he had sent out the ravens. It might have been too soon, but he hoped he could at least get an idea of the direction the troubled youth was headed.

He sighed as he rubbed his forehead. His head was paining him something awful the last few days, more than likely because he had not been drinking nearly as much as he normally did. Running around the Keep had his legs and hips sore as well. He was in quite the state at this point. Perhaps he was getting too old for all of this.

Perhaps he needed a woman.

The temptation to sneak into the city was growing as the days ticked by. His mistress was ensconced in a lovely manor close by, but he wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.

It was growing late by the time he arrived back at the Tower of the Hand, escorted by several Unsullied. Dany had everyone accompanied everywhere with armed guards just in case the Keep was infiltrated by an assassin. There were rumors that the High Sparrow had been asking for her capture for personal questioning, and Tyrion could just imagine what type of questioning that would be, if what happened to Cersei or Margaery was true.

He also partially hoped that the rumors were factual. If he could find proof that they were, he hoped that the High Septon could quickly be booted out of the Great Sept (hopefully burned alive by dragon fire) and they could put someone in there that was in their pocket. But good, all the same.

He was bone tired when he closed his bedchamber door. There was a warm fire and food waiting for him, and he trudged along slowly until he got to the table, where he heaved himself into the chair and began picking at his food.

“You look weary, my love.”

He nearly fell out of his chair. He heard a giggle, and he turned to see Alestra reclined on the plump divan that Daenerys enjoyed relaxing upon. However lovely Daenerys was, Alestra was something special, so she looked all the more beautiful to him.

“You look shocked to see me, my lord. Shall I leave?” she asked in her accented voice, seductively running her fingers over her body.

“Never,” he said, suddenly energized. He jumped down from his chair to meet her by the divan, where he immediately went into her arms. They held each other for several moments before she pulled away, searching his face.

“I have missed you,” she said softly, touching his lips. The hole where his nose had once been would always be a sore subject with him, and she purposefully avoided that area.

“I missed you too,” he said, kissing her. “How did you get in here? Did the guards let you in?” He had his own personal guards, ones that he paid out of his own pocket quite generously to ensure their loyalty. They knew Alestra and would let her in, but he was worried about how she got into the Keep in the first place.

She pinched his cheek and gave him a wicked smile. “I have my ways.”

He frowned at her but decided to bring it up another time. She was safe, at least.

“Will you be able to get back?” he asked, stroking her long black hair and tanned shoulders. She was wearing a modified version of the _tokars_ from Meereen, where he had originally met her. After he had left to go to war with Daenerys, he had corresponded with her for nearly a year before he asked for her to come to him in the North, where they were still fighting the last remnants of the wights. It had taken her nearly half a year to come to him, but when they had been reunited, it had been magnificent.

He knew he loved her. He had never told her, however. His past was too riddled with hurt and he preferred to keep his love a secret until the right time. She was young, beautiful, and powerful in her own right because of her family’s wealth, but she had abandoned them to be with a hideous dwarf lord in the Seven Kingdoms. He didn’t know for certain, but he assumed she was disgraced by now and would not be allowed to return.

“What if I told you I prefer to be here with you, my lord?” she asked quietly, not looking him in the eye. He grasped her chin, making him look at him.

“Did something happen? Was my protection not enough? Did someone hurt you?” he demanded, wanting to force the truth out of her. She just shook her head no, but she did not seem her jubilant self.

“The riots have been worsening, Tyrion. They grow closer to the richer parts of King’s Landing every day. Just last night I saw some lady and her lord thrown into the streets and beaten to death by rocks. The lady and her husband were raped repeatedly before they were killed. Their children—”

“Say no more,” he said gruffly, knowing the story already. The children had been five and seven, and had been gutted while they were still alive before they had been killed. Innocents who did not deserve the horrible things occurring in King’s Landing just because of a High Septon who would not accept a woman ruling the kingdom.

“I saw it happen.”

He closed his eyes. He tried to protect her, had done the same in Meereen and even during the campaigning and purging that had been done by Daenerys and Jon on their way to the Red Keep for her to officially claim the throne. He knew it was impossible to keep things from her, especially in situations like this.

“I am sorry that you had to witness that, my dear. I should have had you brought here the moment the gates to the keep were closed. I trusted my guards to protect you, but—”

“They brought me here, my lord. In secret. I was put into a box and carried through some secret passages that only two of them knew of, from what I was told.”

He gritted his teeth. Only two of them knew, that was true. Tyrion paid them massive amounts of gold to keep those secrets to themselves, so that he could travel back and forth to the city unseen and have escape routes just in case. He had never planned for Alestra to know that they even existed.

“You must never say anything, Alestra. Ever. If the wrong people knew, you could be killed.”

She nodded, understanding the situation. “I would never do that to us, Tyrion.”

He buried his face in her bountiful bosom, drawing in a deep breath, coveting her natural scent. “Let us go to bed then, my sweetling.”

She smiled and took his hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

_Please let it end soon._

Tears slipped down her pale cheeks as the man behind her groaned. Every inch of her ached from the torture of what he was putting her through.

“Come now, my dear,” he grunted, “You know...you like this. Show me...how much...you like it.”

She forced a strangled moan from her throat, knowing that if she acted as if she was enjoying it, he would finish quicker.

His movements slowed, however, making her bite her lip painfully as he pressed deeper inside her. She could feel her skin tearing, burning, and she cried out in agony.

“Yes...yes, tell me, Sansa.”

She gasped as she felt several fingers probe her, digging painfully into her depressingly dry channel. His cock thrust again inside her ass, and the tears came faster. His free hand squeezed her teat painfully, and she knew that she was near the breaking point.

“Please,” she begged, her body trembling with agony and exhaustion. He had been putting her through this abuse for hours now, and had only just started fucking her. He liked to play with her, tease her, and hurt her...until he had his way with her.

His initial fucking had been the worst. He had only used his spit to make her ready for him, and she had screamed hysterically as he forced his way inside her body. Her wrists were tied to the headboard and she could barely move. She had to take whatever he gave her.

Her blood from her torn skin had made the pain of his thrusting lessen soon thereafter.

Normally he used a slightly whitish fluid to ease his way, for she was never ready for him. After the first few weeks of him fucking her, he had learned that she was defective. Her body refused his entrance, no matter what he did, so he gave up trying to get her cunt to be moist and ready for him. He made her feel terrible about how she was not a woman, just a little girl, unable to handle a real man’s body. That she would never be able to experience pleasure as a woman could.

She could never imagine pleasure coming from such an act.

He stopped trying to fuck her in the cunt after a few moons and mostly went after her ass. It pleased him to see her in pain. Her body had learned to accept him more or less, and it wasn’t too bad when he used the liquid to ease his way.

It was when he did not use it that it was the most painful thing she had ever experienced.

Sometimes he still tried to stick himself inside her dry hole, and she usually ended up letting out earsplitting wails as her tender flesh would rend under his assault. He would laugh, his spittle hitting her face, as she laid there, accepting her fate.

She had learned quickly after their marriage not to fight him. The first initial days she had fought back, pounding his body with her fists and kicking out at him. When she had landed a particularly vicious blow between his legs, he had beat her for a full day, until she had been unconscious.

Now he mostly tied her up to prevent her from reacting negatively to the pain, but sometimes he felt frisky and would leave her untied. Now was not one of those times.

It was worse than normal this time. He had beat her with a flat leather crop for almost a full hour before he had forced her mouth onto his cock. He was large and did not hesitate to make her gag as he grabbed the back of her head.

He had taught her how to pleasure him. It was something he was known for, after all, owning all those whores and pleasure houses.

She had contemplated biting his cock off after the first few times of him forcing her to degrade herself on her knees like that. He had threatened to kill her if she even thought of it, for he must have seen it in her eyes, eyes that had not quite been defeated yet.

“You are one of the best I’ve ever had when it comes to sucking my cock, my lovely. I have taught you very, very well,” he had said once, after he had squirted his seed onto her face.

The tears began to dry on her cheeks as she forced out several more realistic sounding moans. He made disgusting noises behind her, grabbing her backside and digging his nails into her skin.

She could not see him from her position, but his sounds signaled his completion was near. He jerked out of her, walking towards the front of the bed on his knees, his hand on his cock and moving over it swiftly. She closed her eyes as he grabbed the back of her head, gripping her hair, and shoved it in her mouth.

The taste made her gag instantly. He groaned loudly at the sensation, and she felt the spurt of his seed in the back of her throat.

When he was done, he shoved her away from him. She curled up on her side, her arms twisted in an awkward position from the ropes tied to her wrists. She didn’t care. She hurt so badly.

_Please just let me die._

“Ah, Sansa...my love. Soon I shall have to make you with child again. I need to have an heir, and however much it will pain me to see a brat ruin your perfect body, it is a necessary evil. Come here, sweetling, let me untie you.”

She nearly panicked at the mention of him getting her pregnant. When they had been married so many moons ago, she had taken moon tea in secret that she had gotten from Mya. It had not taken him long to find out, and he’d had the girl punished and sent away. It was then that he had really started becoming displeased with her in every way. The insults, the degradation, the beatings. It grew worse and worse as every day went by, until he was no longer the man she had once known. The man that had saved her, that had kissed her gently, cared for her, and taught her his ways of manipulation hated her.

He told her time and time again how she wasn’t her mother and how worthless she was as a woman. But she was a vessel and did her job well enough for now.

She often wondered how much longer she had until her job was no longer required.

Her first pregnancy had ended abruptly after he had beaten her senseless a few moons after their impromptu marriage. She had been fourteen. It had been unintentional, for neither of them had known she was with child. When the screams and blood had come, he had been apologetic for the first time since before they had wedded.

The second pregnancy she had ended on her own terms at fifteen. She had pleaded an illness for well over a day and had confined herself to her room. She had been lucky that he had been busy plotting and scheming...else she might not have gotten away with it.

Her torso almost never bruised. Her face and limbs were another story, but she was exceedingly lucky on that front. When she had beat her abdomen over and over again with her fists for hours, no one had known that she had taken her own child’s life by physically harming herself.

She had puked and cried and felt like dying the whole time. She never wanted to take the life of her own child, but she couldn't bear the thought of ever bringing something that was part of him into the world.

When her flesh and muscle had no longer been able to take her punishment, she had lain in bed, praying to the Old Gods and the New that they would rid her body of his abomination.

Her prayers were finally answered.

 Her illness had been the reason for the miscarriage. Petyr had frowned at her in suspicion, but the maester had vouched for her for some unknown reason. He had only visited her for a few moments before giving her a special tea to help her sleep. She had tossed it outside the window after he had left.

“You are still so young and beautiful. Imagine how incredible our children will look, Sansa. Just amazing. Your mother’s looks and my smarts together in one package.”

He had untied her, letting the blood rush back into her limbs. She rubbed the vividly red rope burns on her wrists as he jumped out of the bed, his bones cracking. He was not a young man.

_I hate you._

She watched as he dressed slowly, occasionally cursing his stiff fingers and the coldness of the chamber. He was whistling a tune, clearly pleased with himself despite his aching body.

“Word has come from my spies in King’s Landing, did I tell you?” he chuckled then. “Of course I didn’t, I can’t stand talking to you, can I?”

She looked away, staring at the chamber pot next to the bed. She felt like she needed to be sick, and fought the urge building in her throat as he talked. Instead, she stood and went to the water basin, washing her trembling hands and rinsing out her mouth.

“Looks like this dragon queen is no longer marrying her nephew, Jon. The man who supposedly saved the whole realm. Such a stunning specimen as himself and he decides not to marry her. It is even possible he disappeared, but it is uncertain. Probably the most fool notion he’s ever had, not marrying her.”

Sansa bit her lip at the mention of Jon. That poor man, growing up a bastard only to find out he was the Heir Apparent. He had only given Daenerys the crown because he did not want it. Her husband did not understand that not everyone wanted to be ruler.

Tears pricked her eyes once more as Petyr continued talking. He was moving about the enormous chamber, no doubt hiding evidence of his perversions from the household.

“It just brings me back to how incredibly stupid your entire family is, my dear. I know Jon wasn’t really your half-brother, but he is still your cousin. Failure after failure has come from your family, and yet it still continues. You have been barren for nearly a year now. I am beginning to think that your last miscarriage was intentional and you have permanently harmed yourself. What ever shall I do with you?”

She stood still from her position at the basin. His hand snaked around her throat from behind, applying light pressure, but the threat was still there.

“If you weren’t such a worthless creature, Sansa, you could be the Queen in the North. I could be your king. We could take over this entire world. But you inspire less than nothing. You barely inspire my cock anymore. You are as dry and barren as the Dornish desert,” he hissed. She could feel his anger building, and knew that it was possible she would be beaten again.

“I should just throw you out of the Moon Door like I did your aunt. No one would even care. You have no family. You are all alone in this world. Your entire existence is a jest,” he said against her ear, licking it.

He was always cruel to her in one way or another. It wasn’t something she was unused to. He made her feel simultaneously beautiful and ugly, then would make her feel worthless as a woman just as he told her how smart she was, manipulating the lords of the Vale. He told her constantly of her failings in her life, usually making her cry silent tears, before he built her back up again, only to let her crash.

It hurt all the more because she knew she wasn’t worthless. She knew that she could be something, someone, if he would but let her. He had once been so caring, so understanding. He had tutored her and taught her the ways of court intrigue and how to control people. His teachings had brought her the knowledge on how to put anyone into the palm of her hand...everyone but him.

His words about her family brought on a new pain. He never said much about them. If he did, it was about her mother, and how perfect she had been and how he had been wrong to ever compare them.

“Your brother Robb was a king, and he could have been a good king if he hadn’t been so stupid. It must have come from your father’s side,” he said, his grip tightening around her throat. She felt panic begin to build, and she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. He would choke her every now and then, but at worst she would only just be ready to pass out before he stopped.

“Do you remember when I told you, ‘With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours’? I was wrong. After all these years, I know this now.”

Her world began to blur before he spun her around, making her face him. She coughed right onto his face. His skin was beginning to age, and the lines were growing more and more as time went on. The gray in his hair was spreading thickly. She could see a hair poking out of his nostril she was so close to his face, his sour breath coming in quick pants as he began squeezing again.

“It has been a long time now, Sansa. A few years. Your worthless cousin Robert and his tiny shriveled cock could not fuck you, so I had him killed. Harry the Heir was stupid and handsome. I let him marry you, but he died only a few weeks after in a terrible wildling raid. Ah, then I was truly in power. It was so easy. Daenerys delivered Lord and Warden to me just mere moons ago because there were no more Arryns. Look at all of the services I had performed for her. The gold she needed to finish the war and pay off debts, the men to help protect her country. And Jon, he had no idea you were even alive. Both of those monarchs, clueless little shits. He looked right past you in your hooded cloak when he was here with her, staying only one night before they left. I bet you wanted to go to him, to beg him to save you, didn’t you?” he said, his voice increasing in anger along with the pressure of his hands.

Her eyes began watering as she watched his face become red and mottled. She imagined wildly that hers looked the same.

“I haven’t been able to stand you since the first time I fucked you. Your parched cunt can’t even take my finger. How did Harry take your maidenhood? I have wondered that since the first time I fucked your worthless body.”

His words were growing more and more revealing and cruel. She couldn’t understand where it was coming from. Just moments before he had been speaking of getting her with child, but now it seemed like he wanted to kill her. She fought against his hold, afraid that he truly meant to end her life.

“Your whole family is dead. The Boltons rule the North, where you should be queen. How does that make you feel? Knowing that even though you have the claim, that I, as your husband, know you to be so pathetic and worthless that you could never be the queen the North wants? That I will never let you have your birth right?”

The tears grew as he shook her, and then threw her abruptly. She cried out as her naked flesh hit the stone of the wall, her head smacking against it. Her world swirled for several moments before the vision of him standing in front of her righted itself.

His age became more apparent as she took in the beginnings of his gut. He tried to hide it with his expertly tailored clothes, but she felt it slapping against her skin every time he raped her.

The feeling of nausea returned as she looked at him. Next to her was the chamber pot, and she crawled until she was hovering over it, not wanting to be weak in front of him, but knowing it was a probability that she would be sick.

She felt an odd sensation trickling down the side of her face, and touched her fingers to the side of her cheek.

He was staring at her. He smirked and began rubbing himself through his overtunic. Bile rose in her throat at the sight.

“Bend over, Sansa. I think I shall fuck your withered cunt and get you with child right now.”

She felt the bile in her throat win, and she bent over the pot. The contents of her stomach were still spewing from her mouth when she felt him grab her hips and lift her ass into the air. She tried to fight away his probing fingers at her entrance, and nearly strangled herself on her own vomit as she screamed at the intrusion.

His partially limp manhood pushed against her and she gagged, crying, as he forced his burgeoning length into her.

Covered in her own retch and blood, she hovered over the chamber pot, gazing into the bile and food that had been in her stomach just moments before. She could not help but compare the disgusting smell and sight to that of her life.

Shit.

 

* * *

 

Jon

 

He was starving and freezing.

He had no idea how long he had been gone, but it was long enough to travel to the destroyed Wall and the castle that he had once lorded over.

There were no more brothers in black running around the yards, training or doing other various tasks. It was mostly demolished, with only two partially erect walls still standing and one tower.

He had stayed there for only part of one night, and after a few miserable hours, had ended up leaving the tower in favor of Drogon’s radiating warmth. The dragon had been grateful for his presence, as he had been curled up in a tight ball between the two walls and under a dilapidated overhang, waiting for Jon to come back.

He had decided there was no longer any point in staying at the depressing castle after only being there half of the night. Too much suffering that had happened there. There were too many memories, too many deaths. What little rest he had gotten was filled with terrible nightmares and just left him more exhausted than he already was.

Now he was beyond the Wall, amongst the remains of the Haunted Forest that had mostly been burned during the fighting with the dragons and the undead. All signs of life were gone, except for some struggling trees and thousands of blackened stumps. He sat in the snow, shivering against Drogon, knowing that if he didn’t get food soon, he was going to die.

As if the dragon had understood, he had taken off and been gone for about two hours before he came back with a scrawny deer in his hind claws. Jon had felt his mouth slavering as Drogon roasted it to a delicious crisp, and he had nearly dove face first into the flesh. He slapped his stolen furs before he buried himself under Drogon’s wing for warmth. The keening sound that came from deep within his body made him smile as he pressed closer to his underbelly. Drogon shifted some, the snow melting around him slowly, so that Jon could have access to the warmest parts of his immense body.

Jon ended up clinging to his underbelly in almost a hug, his face pressed against the nearly flat scales on his stomach. He was fascinated by the sounds of the beast’s body, listening to his heart and stomach and other various squishy sounds.

Jon laughed as he patted the dragon’s gut. “How it is possible that you are getting fatter, Drogon? I swear you are. You should be as scrawny as me with as much as you aren’t eating.” He paused as he rubbed the oddly soft scales, transfixed by the gleaming colors of them. Drogon made a bizarre groaning sound before he sifted further onto his side, and Jon almost fell backwards before he caught himself.

He stood, wondering at the unnatural grunts coming from the dragon. He shrieked loudly as Jon stood back, getting a closer look at the huge underside of Drogon. He had become extremely close with Drogon during the campaigning he and Dany had done for almost a year, but in the weeks of being gone from King’s Landing, he felt as if Drogon and he had become friends on a level like he was with Ghost. He was learning little quirks the dragon had, what foods he preferred, positions that he liked to sleep in. He had even discovered several spots on his gigantic body that he loved to have scratched vigorously, and others that he liked to have petted.

Strangely enough, he had also learned that the dragon had an obsession with his scent. Despite how absolutely huge Drogon was, he would stick his snout right into Jon’s chest and just sniff him. He would draw in huge lungful’s of fiery air several times, his face relaxed and his molten eyes closed. The dragon had caught his clothes on fire a few times because of it, but it had been more funny than annoying. When Drogon smelled him like that, he ended up just stretching his arms wide and holding his massive nose, resting his head upon the flat between his nostrils and letting him smell him to his heart’s content. It remind him of Ghost when Drogon sniffed him, and it made him miss his white friend terribly.

_“Protect her, Ghost.”_

He would never doubt his direwolf’s ability to defend, and knew that he would be following Dany around like a lost puppy, probably sulking because he had been gone so long.

His thoughts turned briefly to Daenerys as he ran his hands down the length of Drogon’s underbelly. He was making the low keening noise again, but Jon couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad noise. He was searching for any signs of distress as he continued to his hind legs, growing concerned as the dragon lifted his powerful limb. It was as if Drogon wanted him to be looking for something.

“You better not piss on me again,” he grumbled, remembering the time about a week prior that the dragon had gotten irritated with him for digging out a sharp stick from his foot. He had screeched right in his face until he had been nearly deaf, and then taken off into the air in a fit. Jon hadn’t been paying attention and had initially thought it had started to rain, but when he looked up, he’d gotten a face full of urine. It had sounded like Drogon was cackling as he flew away.

His clothes still reeked, despite diving his whole body into a nearly frozen lake and rinsing his attire. He imagined he had looked quite the sight standing naked in the freezing air wringing out the sodden furs.

It was not unheard of for Drogon to ask him to search his body for some random irritation. The dragon had no hands and had no way of reaching certain parts of his hulking frame. In their weeks together Jon had found sticks, stones, bugs, and even an arrowhead imbedded in the sharp ridges all over his body. The dragon’s reaction to the removal of the objects ranged from anger and pain, in which Jon either got pissed on or shrieked at—or happiness, in which he got rumblings of thanks, affectionate nudges that knocked him to the ground, his whole body bathed in saliva from being licked, or taken on a wild ride in the air where he hooted with exhilaration.

He was standing at Drogon’s back legs. He felt nervous being in the area because he honestly didn’t want some form of the dragon’s excrement soaking him again in a deluded sense of retaliation. The softer scales in the delicate area of his belly had turned to small ridges again, and he ran his fingers over all of them, searching for something that was possibly causing him pain. He was breathing in and out loudly, and Jon placed his hands on the dragon’s stomach again, wondering why it looked swollen.

“Is your stomach upset, Drogon?”

He made a rumbling noise. Jon frowned and tried to think of the last time he’d seen him eat or take a shit. The dragon often had disgusting habits and would sometimes just shit right next to where they were sleeping, making them have to relocate.

He probed the area and felt how hard it was. He honestly couldn’t know how it was supposed to feel, but it did seem weird that a delicate area of his body was rock solid like that. The dragon didn’t act like it hurt to have it prodded, despite how hard he was pushing.

“I think you just need to go get some food and take a shit, my friend,” he said, patting his belly one more time before he moved away. Drogon lifted his head and snorted at him, rolling onto his stomach and flapping his wings a few times before he settled back down.

Jon sat back under his wing to get coverage from the wind and snow and leaned his head against Drogon’s lumpy side. He ended up not thinking of anything for quite some time until his thoughts ended up turning to the dragon’s mother, and he curled up into a tighter ball, trying to fight the horrible feeling he got when he even pictured her face.

He could see her in his mind’s eye, tears in her eyes as she waited by the window, hoping to see him return with Drogon. The betrayal she was feeling inside her heart was easy to imagine.

It made him feel sick to his stomach how he had left her. Their wedding had long since passed, undoubtedly putting the city back into turmoil. He hoped that it wasn’t too bad, but as every day went by, his thoughts grew more troubled and his heart grew heavy. He had the feeling something was wrong, but he wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t sure what he wasn’t ready for, but he knew whatever it was, he wasn’t prepared for it. He didn’t know if he ever would be, but he had the feeling things had to be righted before he could return. That something had to be resolved within him in order for him to go back, if he ever did. Perhaps his mind needed to be cleared, maybe he needed to accomplish something—anything—but whatever it was...it had not been done yet.

He wasn’t sure how long he could stay gone before the Seven Kingdoms blew up in complete and total war again. For whatever reason he was up in the North, he needed to fix his problems and get it done quickly.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. His body couldn’t take much more of this hell either. Between the random bouts of dehydration, starvation, and sleeplessness, he was becoming weaker and weaker.

He ended up lying against Drogon, his thoughts buzzing around aimlessly, until an unbidden thought seized him and he nearly choked at what he envisioned.

Another man at Daenerys’ side, kissing her, making her smile.

With a crown on his head.

His heart began to race. He jumped up, startling Drogon. Without any deliberation whatsoever, he vaulted onto the back of the dragon and yelled, “ _Sōvēs!_ ”

Drogon screeched with irritation before he beat his wings, lifting them into the sky and into the setting sun.

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s Note** : So we get to see where Jon went, his relationship with Drogon, and some of his feelings about Daenerys and leaving her.

And we finally met Sansa. What are your thoughts? Let me know...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sōvēs - "Fly" in High Valyrian


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dangerous attractions abound.
> 
> Hope emerges from the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Another Sansa scene with Petyr Baelish...not as graphic though.

**Author’s Note** : Daenerys is being torn apart by Jon's abandonment and is approached by someone that offers her an alternative. Sansa finds hope in an unlikely place. 

 

* * *

 

Chapter Five

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Daenerys

 

The city was starting to burn.

Despite the anger that she felt towards the smallfolk and the High Sparrow, she knew that she couldn’t afford to not take action much longer.

Everything that was happening was completely reminiscent of Meereen. She had lost so many Unsullied soldiers when the city had been rioting and when the war had broken out with the Greyjoy fleet. So much unnecessary death. She was reluctant to send her men into the city and possibly get them killed for such a trivial matter. But as every day, every week went by, it became more and more likely that she was going to have to use force.

Horror stories reached her ears daily on the women and children being raped and murdered. The Faith Militant patrolled the streets and controlled every move that the citizens made, and if at any point they heard or saw something they didn’t like, the chances were that the person was going to die.

Everything was in complete chaos, and the High Sparrow seemed to be encouraging it. She had no idea why a man of faith would think that it was acceptable for people to be killing each other over a woman on the throne. But he felt strongly enough that a woman was a corrupt, evil creature just because she was alive—therefore not fit to rule without a man to keep her in check—that he was willing to see a whole city destroyed and a kingdom erupt back into flames.

She had been told that towards the end, when Queen Cersei had been struggling to keep control after the deaths of her children, that the High Septon had done the same as he was doing now, until she had been captured and killed in a mob.

At least she hadn’t had to deal with the queen personally, and for that, she was thankful.

She watched the city below her from the largest balcony at the Keep, and heard the intermittent screams from there. It hurt her heart to witness it all.

_Jon, where are you?_

It was a struggle every day to not feel betrayed by him. She knew he was troubled and that he had healing that needed to be done. Part of her had hoped that their marriage would be able to heal him, but she had deluded herself into thinking she was the one that could fix him.

He needed to fix himself, and she hoped that was what he was doing.

She stared at the color-streaked sky until her eyes hurt and the sky went from vivid reds and oranges to dark blue, then black. It was hard to see the stars in the city, but she still gazed in the bearing that she knew to be north, the direction she knew in her heart Jon had gone.

There had been no word from any of the houses of her dragon. It did not matter. She knew that Jon would go nowhere else.

_I wish you were here._

He would be able to tell her exactly what to do. Westeros was his home, not hers.

_Come back. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jon. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. That night, I should have let you talk. Whatever you had to say, I should have let you say it. It is all my fault._

Tears filled her eyes for the hundredth time since he left, but for each of those times, she had never let them fall. She blinked them away and stiffened her back, refusing to feel helpless. So much had changed since she had left overseas to come to this country, and she had allowed herself to become softer, kinder, and gentler, and it seemed like at every turn that kindness was thrown back into her face.

The old Daenerys would have never accepted Jon leaving. She would have hunted him down. The old Daenerys would have never let her city fall apart. She would have sent an army into the Great Sept of Baelor and had that old man chained and brought before her for what he was doing.

The rage that filled her nearly brought her to her knees. She remembered feeling so alone for so long...she had once compared her loneliness to that of the gods, where their might had them above everyone and away from it all. In her mightiness she had felt the same, but somehow, somewhere, things had changed.

She had gotten a family.

The fighting at Wall had brought them all so close together. They had bled for each other and all nearly died to keep one another alive to save the kingdom. The horrors they had witnessed, the sheer magical improbability, the workings of gods...and men that seemed like they were not just mere mortals. It had changed them all.

That family had softened the part of her heart she had thought was a diamond, so hard that it could not be altered without the greatest force.

She was no longer sure if that family was a strength or a weakness at this point. With Jon gone, part of her wondered if everything had been a mistake. If she was just a stupid girl like Viserys had always said.

_We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will. I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army._

She teetered on the edge of ordering her entire army into the city. Her hands gripped the stone railing and she pictured the city burning not from the riots, but from her dragons. From her army. The High Sparrow’s indignation would be nothing compared to the Mother of Dragon’s wrath.

“You look angry, my queen.”

She stiffened at the sound of the accented male voice.

“Trystane. I thought I told you I did not want to see you ever again.”

His throaty chuckle was full of genuine amusement. “But yet you do not have me sent away or killed. Sometimes I wonder if you really do want to see me, but fight with your mind and body every time I am in your presence.”

She smirked as she turned to face him. Tossing her long hair over her shoulder, she leaned back against the rail and watched him. He was intense, incredibly handsome, and just her type. Tall, dark, and slender, but corded with muscle. Deadliness oozed from his stance, but she did not feel threatened.

Trystane always managed to move in such a way that it set her skin on fire just by watching him. He knew he was desirable, just as she knew she was, and he used it to his advantage. Even his voice was seductive. Everything he did suggested that he could show her that night of incredible delights that she was so longing for.

He was not wearing a long tunic as he always did. Tonight he was wearing a loose white shirt, which flowed in the cold wind. She could see his strong, bronzed chest through the white laces that were meant to be tied, but had purposefully been left undone. She also noticed that his nipples were hard from the chill in the air. His black breeches were leather, tight and formed to every edge and curve. She drew in a deep breath and fixed him with a glare.

“I am your queen, Prince Trystane. Every time you meet me, you have to sneak yourself into whatever area I am in. Somehow you manage to elude my guards. Give me a reason why I should not have you killed?”

His lopsided smile made her knees weak. She gripped onto the rail harder and pressed herself against it as he stepped closer. She dared not to show how affected she was by him, but she had a feeling he could tell.

“You would have a loyal subject killed, Your Grace?” he said softly, only inches from her now. If she inhaled deeply enough, the tips of her breasts would press against his chest. The temptation to do just so was extreme.

“I would have a man who is daring to evade my guards, refuse my orders, and be so close to my person killed, yes,” she said, standing rigidly as his hand wandered forward, catching a curl that had blown over her shoulder. He wrapped his finger around it gently, so tenderly that she could not actually feel the sensation.

Her hand snatched his wrist a moment later, unbelieving that he would do such a thing and that she had let him. “You dare?” she asked, venom clear in her voice.

“I would dare, my queen. I would dare anything if it meant I could see you,” he whispered, his lips just a breath from hers. Her heart raced, so unsure of what she should do next. To let this man kiss her, to let him have her, would be what her body wanted. Her mind fought with her, because she knew that there was no reason for this, for she was still technically betrothed and there were political matters involved.

Her heart sank, because she didn’t know if Jon would ever return. The betrayal of him stung...and this man, this prince in front of her, wanted her. Jon did not want her. If he had wanted her, he would have stayed. He would have prevented the people of King's Landing from rioting outside the Keep, trying to break down the gates.

Their conversations over the last few weeks had been charged with sexual energy and brief mentions of Trystane telling her to take him as her king. That he would protect her and the realms if she would but let him. Their families had a long history together and had bound each other together through marriage in the past. Dorne had done everything in their power to see a Targaryen returned to the throne and were beyond valuable as allies.

Her mind knew that marrying him would almost be just as good as marrying Jon, for it would place a man next to her on the throne. It would stop the riots in King’s Landing. It would appease the High Sparrow and the realm. The riches of Dorne would be at her disposal. It would give her exactly what her body wanted—a man to fuck her until she could no longer move.

She closed her eyes and grabbed the back of his head, crushing his lips to hers.

_He’s never coming back to you._

His hands were all over her. His tongue was in her mouth, tasting her and teasing her with its occasional thrusts. Her mind fought her body’s reaction, but she knew it was futile. She had been without a man for so long...the attempts to seduce Jon had left her wanton and needy in the worst way.

His lips were on her neck, sucking and nibbling. She gasped loudly, clutching at him, when he pulled away, saying, “We should go to your chambers, Your Grace.”

Her mind raced quickly, knowing that it was a bad idea to go there, when so many could see them. Not only that, but Ghost would be waiting for her. Already she was worried that her guards, stationed far from where she was for privacy, might have heard or seen something.

“Meet me in the godswood,” she said, ripping herself away from him and hurrying away. She had to get back to her chambers and claim sleep for the night.

She ran to the corner where her guards were standing silently, and turned to make sure Trystane was still not there. He was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

The secret passage that she went through was old and smelled musty. She sneezed several times as she ran through the walls of the Holdfast, knowing the way well enough to recognize that if she took a right she would go towards the dungeons, and left, the godswood.

She took the left.

It took her only a few long moments or so for her to exit through an ivy covered door. The ivy had grown in such a way that it did not impede the opening and closing of the small door, but covered it so thoroughly that you could not tell a door was behind it even if you were staring directly at it and knew it was there.

She ran through the small drifts, noting how they were melting once more. Her soft slippers were soaked within moments, but she ignored the chill in her toes.

He was standing under the heart tree, waiting for her. She rushed into his arms, where her lips immediately claimed his.

This had to be quick. She thanked the Old Gods undoubtedly watching that it was very late, and the city and Keep were now mostly asleep. The rioting had calmed to almost nothing. She could not risk being caught. With the huge army within the Keep and the large amount of people still around for her wedding, it was utterly stupid that she was even trying this.

Her young woman’s body felt otherwise, though, as her hands began removing her thick winter dress. The air was cold, but not enough so that the heat from his skin and from her blood pounding did not keep her warm.

When he spun her around and thrust inside her, she grunted and bit her lip. She had to fight the urge to moan loudly as he took her from behind, hard and fast. His hand reached around to find the small nub between her legs, whispering naughty words in her ear, and she felt her knees begin to shake.

_I knew that he would know just how to fuck a woman. He is a Dornishman._

It did not take long for her to peak. His free hand went to her mouth and he held her up as her legs nearly gave out. His movements became erratic and she knew that he was about to follow her. He grunted and she jerked against him, moaning as she felt warmth flood inside her.

He drew several deep breaths before he withdrew from her, making her flinch at the brief sting. She was unused to having a man inside her, and she knew that she would be sore the next day.

He helped her dress once more, acting much more tender and caring than he’d had the chance to during their mating. He pressed several kisses against her lips before she tried to pull away, knowing she had to leave.

“See me again, Daenerys.”

She bit her lip, not knowing what she should do.  The path she was going down with this man could either go one of two ways. Which did she want?

She turned towards him, peering into his face, where the darkness hid the look in his eyes. “Trystane...I—”

He pressed his finger against her lips, silencing her. She nearly ripped off her clothes again.

“You have shown me something tonight, my queen. You are a passionate woman. The more I learn about you, the more I want you. You drive me wild. Please, do not refuse me. I need you.”

Her heart pounded at his words. Words that she longed for a man to say to her all her life.

“I will summon you tomorrow. We have much to talk about,” she said, closing her eyes as his lips found hers once more, igniting the passion within her again. When she pulled away, his fingers caressed her cheek.

An odd sound reached her ears then, and her breath caught when she realized that it was the long, sorrowful howl of a direwolf.

She fled.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

She was dying.

There was no way that she wasn’t. She didn’t honestly know what it felt like to die, but it had to be this.

Her body was in such a state of pain that it was complete agony to move the barest inch. She had been tied up for days and days, and she could no longer feel her arms and legs. Her husband would occasionally untie her to be “kind” and let the blood flow back, but they would just go numb again in a few hours, leaving her mad with the sensation. He left her tied up for so many hours she had ended up pissing herself on more than one occasion.

He had tied her up permanently after he had decided to get her with child. She didn’t know how weeks it had been, because the raping had been constant, as had the torture.

He didn’t beat her or harm her in such a way that it would prevent her body from carrying a child. Most of his torture was mental or emotional. He would talk to her for hours about how he was going to do this or that, and most of it dealt with taking control of the North in her name, and then once he had power, then he would go after the Iron Throne.

When he had told her that he was going to kill Jon, the last of her family, she had went berserk. She had thrashed and screamed and pulled at the ropes on her wrists until she had bled. He had only laughed, and she had felt defeated, for he knew then that Jon was a weak spot with her.

_I wish I had been better to you growing up. I wish I could take back some of the unkindness I sent your way. I was a stupid child. My hatred came from mother...it was wrong of me. I’m so sorry. When I see you again...if I live...I will do everything to show you how sorry I am._

She doubted that anyone important knew that she was alive. Most of the Eyrie did, but they were incredibly isolated, especially in the winter, which had been going strong for over two years now at least. Messages sent to and from the castles were strictly monitored and the ravens leaving the Gates of the Moon, where they were living, were only released by Petyr.

If anyone did know, which she was sure _someone_ out there had to know, then it wasn’t important enough for anyone to care.

He tormented and twisted her mind, and sometimes she was so unsure of what she was thinking, she wasn’t sure who knew and who didn’t.

Perhaps no one did know. It wouldn’t surprise her if Petyr just murdered anyone that found out that shouldn’t know. He had laughed at her so many times, saying that whoever knew could care so little, that they did not tell the Heir Apparent that she was alive and he still thought her dead, as did everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. Dead, or in another continent entirely, where she didn’t matter.

She had begun daydreaming of Jon finding out she was alive. In her wildest imaginings, she pictured him attacking the castle to save her. It was pure fantasy, but for whatever reason, it helped her hold onto the last shreds of sanity that she had.

Petyr had been spilling his seed within her two or three times a day on average for however long he’d had her tied up. Sometimes he would have a special castle serving girl come into the room to fuck her in front of Sansa, so his cock could be hard, before he would shove himself into her, tearing her bruised and bloody flesh further.

She would often watch the girl and stare into her pretty blue eyes as Petyr raped her again and again. The girl’s eyes looked as dead as hers. Once, when Petyr hadn’t been watching, her hand had twitched towards Sansa’s, and their fingers had clung together for a brief moment before they separated.

“Your moon’s blood has not come, Sansa. Do you think I have been successful in making you pregnant?”

Sansa’s bloodshot eyes moved over to see him, standing above her and gazing down at her naked body. She hoped he could smell the piss in the air.

“Yes,” she croaked, her tongue tasting her cracked lips. He had not given her water in quite some time.

He sat next to her and began caressing her oily hair.

“Would you like to bathe?” he asked, his face not quite able to hide his disgust with her appearance and scent. She wanted to yell at him that everything was his fault, why she looked like this, why she was who she was, why she had lost her family. Everything was his fault.

At the snap of his fingers, the servant girl he had fucked on numerous occasions came in, a bucket of steaming water held in her grasp. He began untying her, and she nearly cried at the sensation and relief. Her wrists were bloody and chaffed terribly. Scabs lined halfway up her arms from the tugging and yanking she had done on them.

“Wash yourself. The mere sight of you makes me want to punish you. I will return shortly, after Morella bathes you. I would like to see you pretty for once.”

The copper tub was pulled from the corner as bucket after bucket was poured into it. Sansa nearly dived into it, desperate to be clean. She began scrubbing herself with the sliver of soap Morella handed her. The first place she washed was between her legs, and she rubbed herself raw trying to be clean.

Morella came to her side to wash her hair, but she jerked away. She had not been tended by a lady’s maid in years, and trusted no one any longer. What friends she’d had when she first came here were long gone or dead. Petyr had seen to her complete and utter isolation and loneliness.

“My lady, allow me to help. I just want to help you. You have such pretty hair, it would be nice to see it shining again.”

Sansa stared at the plain girl, unsure of her intentions. She crept closer and closer, her hands held out, until Sansa finally allowed her to touch her. As she began washing her hip length hair, she nearly melted. No one had touched her kindly in such a long, long time.

Morella took her time with her hair. She even scratched her scalp. Sansa nearly purred at the attention.

“My lady...he will be back soon. We should finish.”

Sansa didn’t want it to end, but she also did not want to be caught still in the tub by the time her husband came back. She stood, allowing the servant to wrap her in a towel and help her step out.

She was drying her hair when Sansa felt her lips press against her ear. Her first reaction was to jerk violently away, but the girl held firm.

“No, Sansa. Listen to me. We have to get out of here. I have a plan. We can flee. Would you be willing to leave with me?”

Her heart pounded. Desperation to be free of Petyr clawed at her. Her slight nod was all the girl needed as she continued to dry her body.

“I will come up with a plan. I will figure out a signal to let you know it will be soon. Be ready. Hide warm clothes, food, currency...anything you can grab and carry easily.”

Sansa felt her stomach flip-flopping at her words. Was this really happening?

She was dressed in one of her finest gowns and her hip-length hair was being pulled up on her head when Petyr returned. She hoped he did not notice how the dress no longer fit her and punish her for it. He smiled as Morella curtsied and Sansa just gave him a dead stare.

“Tsk, tsk, my dear. I was going to allow you out of this room today, but I see that your manners have not improved. Morella, please remove her dress.”

Sansa did not feel the hopelessness she usually felt when Petyr was about to rape her. Instead, the barest hint of a rekindled flame burned within her as she felt the warm touch of fingers grabbing her hand, squeezing.

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s Note** : Looks like Sansa has an ally! Will they escape? What about Daenerys? Do you think she will finally make the decision to give up on Jon and marry Trystane?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insight to Jon's past.

**Author's Note** **:** Strictly a chapter on Jon. You get to see exactly why he is who he is at this point in the story, and where all of his problems stem from. Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter Six

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Drogon

 

The master was hurting.

Drogon watched as the master laid on the burned ground, his body curled into a ball as he sobbed.

The sun had set and rose many times now since master had found the large stone that marked something special. They had flown for a long time to reach this place, among the trees with red leaves.

It was cold here—nothing that could not be handled. But master was human, and his body was growing frailer as the days went by.

Drogon had brought master food many times, but only occasionally did he accept. It was difficult to understand the master’s actions, so Drogon just watched and waited.

And waited.

When they had first arrived to the copse of white trees, master had been quiet. It hadn’t been until he had spotted a specific tree with a smiling face carved into its trunk, that master began digging through the deep snow. He had dug and dug until his fingers were stiff and turning blue. Drogon had tried to warm him, but master had yelled at him, trying to shove him away.

Drogon had watched the look on master’s face as he revealed a large rock, and then collapsed upon it, wailing.

The dragon had never heard such a noise come from a human. Drogon had heard pain and death and other human words, but nothing like this. It hurt the dragon’s heart to hear master in pain.

The crying had lasted for hours. Days. All Drogon had been able to do was curl around the place master was lying, trying to shield his body from the cold and wind. The snow had melted quickly, and Drogon had been happy to keep master sheltered.

His smell was wrong now. The crying and sadness made his scent tart in the dragon’s nose and tongue. The worry that Drogon had was only increasing as time went by. There were many times that the dragon had tried to move master, to get him to lift himself up, but he just laid there, unmoving, his eyes staring ahead. Other times he would just cry until he could barely breathe, speaking to someone who was not there.

Drogon did not understand, but the dragon knew that master needed to leave soon or he would die.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

He couldn’t take his own stench anymore. It had been at least a solid month since he had last bathed. He felt filthy in a way he had never experienced before, considering he had gone weeks without bathing before.

Drogon snorted next to him, noticing he was sitting up for once. The dragon had brought him food just a few hours ago, and he had taken a few bites of charred meat to regain some strength.

He leaned against the bulk of the dragon’s belly, and stroked the ridges. Drogon was acting sickly and had been for some time. He barely ate and slept a lot. Jon was afraid that he was ill, either from exposure or not having the proper care, or just something he had no knowledge of.

He himself was sick as well. The cold had gotten to him long ago, and not keeping his body nourished had left him coughing, shaking, and sneezing constantly. His furs, stolen from a wildling camp in the New Gift, hung on his frame depressingly. It was one of few times he had ever been sick; in fact, he could only remember one other time in his life when he’d been sick as a child and had nearly died. Daenerys touted often that she was immune to illnesses or plagues of any kind, for she had never been sick and had walked amongst the dead and dying riddled with disease. Jon had rolled his eyes, and it made him smile to remember her bragging about her superior health.

Drogon stuck his enormous nose into his limp, greasy curls, sniffing him. Jon gave him a dirty look, knowing the dragon couldn’t be enjoying his disgusting odor. To his surprise, Drogon stood, acting anxious and thrashing around. The trees shook as he moved through them, much too large to be hiding amongst them.

“What’s wrong, boy? I haven’t seen you so excited since we left King’s Landing.”

It was true. Drogon had flown so hard and fast when they had left that it had been a challenge to hang on. Jon had showed up in the darkness of the Dragonpit, saddling him in secret with some difficulty. It had been hard to keep him quiet with all the snorting and grunting and other various noises of anticipation he made, and placing his hands over his nostrils no longer worked as it once had when he was smaller. A solid hand over his snout would get him to quiet down when he was a bit younger, but the dragon was still growing. Even since they had left King’s Landing, Jon had needed to adjust the girth of the saddle on his back. But that could also be because of whatever problem was affecting his stomach.

Drogon flapped his wings, disturbing the dozens of crows in the trees. He screeched, smoke pouring from his mouth for a moment before he stared at him with his slitted eyes. Whatever he was doing, he was trying to get his attention.

Jon stood and wobbled on his weak knees unexpectedly. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood. Since he had found this place, his body had mostly shut down and he’d only had to piss a few times. All he had done then was roll over for a few feet and urinate into the snow before he rolled right back into the little burnt nest he had been sleeping in.

Val’s mostly unmarked grave was nearly unrecognizable since he had first come here. The area had been buried in several feet of snow, and he had dug for hours trying to find the boulder that he had buried her ashes next to.

Drogon’s massive body had ended up melting most of the snow in the radius around the boulder within a few hours. Once it had melted, the ground had been muddy and mushy. He had promptly set fire to it, making it bizarrely hard and dry. Jon had just laid next to the huge rock for days...just sobbing.

As he stood, he balanced himself on the only marker that told him she was buried here. He clung to it, resting his cheek against it. The tears were gone now, for he had cried himself completely out.

In his nearly 20 years, he had only cried a few times. Not many, for he had learned to suppress his emotions at a young age, but they had been warranted given the sheer amount of death his family had experienced. After his fa—Uncle Ned had died, it seemed like each of his cousins had disappeared one by one. It was unknown if any of them were alive. For each of their deaths or disappearances, he had cried.

But never in his life had he experienced the devastation that had come from Val dying.

His visit to her grave had brought back terrible nightmares and memories that he had mostly blocked after moons and moons of misery defeating the Night’s King and gathering support for Dany. The campaign to bring Westeros into Daenerys’ power had helped him be distracted with the fighting and political matters, but once they had gone to King’s Landing, things had started coming back to him. Long stretches of inactivity had left his mind open to think about what happened. Dany and her affections had helped some, especially talking to her. But some things...they just destroyed him.

His dreams replayed her death over and over again. They were more vivid and lifelike than they had ever been since he had come here. Every night he dreamt the same thing, with almost no variation.

* * *

 

_“Do it, Jon. I’m going to die,” she choked, blood flecking her red lips. The wound in her gut was something he couldn’t bear to look at. Instead he pressed his hands against it, trying to stop the bleeding and hold her together. She started gagging, blood trickling down her chin into her furs and blonde hair._

_People were murmuring behind him as panic flooded him, and he began begging her not to do this to him._

_“Don’t do this, Val. Don’t do this to me. To us. You’ll be alright. I’ll get Melisandre—”_

_She tried to laugh but it didn’t sound right. Tears were beginning to escape her eyes, and at the sight, he wept brokenly. Val had never cried in the time he had known her. His hands were trembling, his whole body shaking, his thoughts scattered as he knelt next to her in the filthy snow, trying to save her._

_She reached for him, making him remove his hands from the wide gash in her stomach. He had been keeping her insides together, and she gasped and cried out in agony as they began to spill from her body. Blood was everywhere, all over him and her, and she clutched him to her, their tears mingling as they pressed their foreheads together._

_“I love you,” she whispered, her lips quivering and her eyes rolling back in her head as her body began to fail her. She smiled then, fighting her dying body, choking for a moment before she said, “I hope you’ll miss me fucking you into oblivion, Jon Snow.”_

_He laughed pathetically, squeezing her tightly as she murmured in his ear._

_“Kill me. Do it, Jon.”_

_He couldn’t do it. She reached for the sword at his side as her blood soaked the snow. Her entrails were visible through her thick furs, and she cried, pleading with him to do it. To end her suffering. She’d been dying long before he had found her._

_He stood, and he heard the hushed whispers of the people standing behind him. He heard Daenerys, the woman who would be queen of the Seven Kingdoms if she had her way, but did not know her words. He knew nothing._

_Val smiled at him one last time as he unsheathed his Valyrian steel sword, grasping the hilt in both of his hands._

_“I love you, Val,” he sobbed, the bastard blade in his hands shaking uncontrollably. Her smile widened at his words, for they had never spoken the words to each other, they had just known._

_I am yours, and you are mine._

_His scream of loss echoed around the burned trees, as his sword met her heart._

* * *

 

 

He didn’t only dream of her death. He often dreamt of fire, and the moment that Daenerys had finally realized that he was a Targaryen and Melisandre’s prophecy had been fulfilled.

Melisandre had known who he was through her fires, visions, and his resurrection, but Dany had always just called her a witch and had never trusted her. Her tune had changed after Val’s death.

 

* * *

 

 

_She looked peaceful. Beautiful._

_Her body was laying on the pyre, ready for Melisandre to say the prayers to R’hllor, prayers that he did not care for, but she insisted upon. Just as she had insisted upon it when she had brought him back to life._

_Daenerys was stiff beside him as they prepared to burn the woman he had loved. She did not disapprove of the ceremony, but she was definitely nervous. Some of the Dothraki with them had murmured about blood magic, fearful of the Red Witch._

_Jon didn’t give two shits._

_He knew Melisandre was powerful. She had saved his life with her abilities. Whether or not he liked it, he owed her. Val’s death was no true offering to her god, for she was already dead, but she was still considered wildling royalty, and they had to burn her before it was too late._

_He had not had the strength to set her pyre on fire himself. Several men he trusted walked by him with torches, and he felt his throat tighten. Melisandre looked at him with her red eyes, and he looked away as she began talking to her god and praising him._

_Her words did not reach his ears. He watched the torchbearers press the flames into the wood and oil, and soon the fire was eating the pyre alive._

_His heart pounded as he watched the second woman he had loved burn. The flames had not reached her yet, but they would soon. Even now her furs were starting to smoke._

_It was then that he had the impulse to be with her one last time. To hold her and kiss her cold, purple lips. To press his face against her lovely long hair and tell her that she was his._

_Murmurs began hitting his ears, then shouts. Melisandre’s cries grew louder, a pitch that did not seem natural or human. Behind him, men and women were yelling and crying out to him, but he did not care._

_She was in his arms then. He didn’t know how. He pressed his face into her neck, and held her as the fire roared in his ears._

_He felt her body disappearing, slowly burning away into ash. And soon, that was all that he was holding._

_When he had stood, naked and hairless except for the Valyrian sword in his hand, the group that had been bidding Val their final farewells were silent, watching him in horror and disbelief. The Dothraki were chanting, but their language was foreign to him._

_Daenerys had stepped forward, her purple eyes alight, as she touched his blackened face._

_“Blood of my blood,” she whispered, embracing him. He had held her, the tears coming silently._

_“Azor Ahai has returned! We are saved!" Melisandre had cried, gesturing to the sword burning with an unnatural flame in his hand as she prostrated herself before him._

* * *

 

 

Drogon was still thrashing about as he lifted his head, trying to shake off the memories of his dreams.

Last night had been the night that he had decided that he would rather die than return to King’s Landing. He had already betrayed Daenerys, and more than likely the vengeful woman hated him. The thought of returning to her anger had terrified him. His odd vision of seeing her with another man had faded, as had the pain and desperation to not let it happen.

He had known after that odd visualization his mind had conjured that he had something he needed to take care of. His heart had steered Drogon’s flight many miles away from the collapsed Wall, to the place where he had taken the dragon originally over a year ago, to bury Val’s ashes.

After an unknown amount of days he had just cried and let all his misery out. He talked to her grave of his mistakes and how he wished things were different. It had brought him some calm, but the pain had only increased as he had lain there on the burned ground, knowing she would never be in his arms again, smirking at him evilly for something he had said.

His mind had decided then that he would just starve himself to death. He had told Drogon to go home, but the dragon had refused to leave him. He had ignored the huge creature at that point, resigning himself to his demise.

Last night had been when a different dream had come. He had fallen asleep to the sounds of crows in the trees, calling out to each other with loud caws.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You look like shit, Jon Snow.”_

_It was as if she was standing right in front of him. Alive...somehow._

_She smiled as she stepped closer to where he was now sitting up from the burned ground in front of her grave._

_“How—?”_

_“How am I here? I’m not entirely sure, but more than likely I’m a wee sprite here to torture you for being an ass.”_

_He tried to stand but ended up falling onto his face onto the blackened earth. He cursed his weak body, but he knew it was only his fault._

_“You are probably the most pathetic man I have ever seen,” she snorted, her arms crossed. She started laughing at him as he glared at her._

_“This is all your fault...I can’t—”_

_“My fault? You can’t what? Get over me? Live without me? ‘Oh, my name is Jon Snow, and a woman was the only thing that kept me alive. I am nothing without her.’ Do you realize how stupid that sounds?” she spat, walking over to him and yanking his hair back to make him look her in the eyes._

_She reminded him of Ygritte then, and the pain was worse._

_“If you are half the man that you were fighting to save the Free Folk, trying to defeat the white walkers, and protecting the entire world, then you would see how pissed I am to see you lying here, being nothing but a huge pile of shit, desecrating my resting place.”_

_Jon didn’t know what to say. The wildling woman made sense, and he knew that her real, living self, would never accept to see him like this. But she didn’t know...she didn’t understand. He had nothing. She was the last thing he’d had to care for, to love. In his young mind, when he’d first fallen for her shortly after being resurrected, she had been the woman he was going to love forever._

_“You don’t understand, Val. You couldn’t. I’m not the one that’s dead, with you still alive.”_

_She threw her beautiful head back and laughed. “If you were dead and I was still alive, this world would be a frozen hell. If I was alive, I would have mourned you, yes...but I would not ruin my life over you. Do you know how many men I’ve been with? How many I’ve loved and lost? You were not the first. The Free Folk love and love hard, but we do not let our lives end with the life of the one that was ours. It happens too frequently. People die, Jon. You can only remember them and cherish the time you had with them. Don’t let it destroy you. You are better than that.”_

_Jon choked as she knelt before him. He was afraid to touch her, afraid that she wasn’t there, real, alive._

_As if she knew his thoughts, she placed her pale hand against his face. He closed his eyes, treasuring the brief moment of warmth that flooded his cheek. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not._

_“I’ll always be a part of you. In that heart of yours. In that head of curls. You can picture me fucking the bloody shit out of you until you nearly expire. Remember the fun we had. Don’t remember the sad. Don’t torture yourself over what happened. I’m not in pain anymore. You shouldn’t be either.”_

_The tears came then, and he opened his eyes to gaze into hers. But she was gone._

* * *

 

 

When he had awoken, he knew then that he couldn’t let himself die. Whether her appearing in his dream had been something his own mind had conjured or not, he knew that the wildling princess would not be happy seeing him the way he was.

He felt disappointed in himself that it had taken a dream to realize that he needed to love her memory, not mourn himself into insanity and death.

She had been gutted by an Other, and would have changed if he had not killed her and burned her. She had sacrificed her life because he had been fighting far off and had not seen the Other coming for him.

Her sacrifice would have been in vain if he let himself die. If he let himself continue his path of destruction. She was right...remember the happy times they had. Not the sad. Not their last moments together.

He found himself grinning as he remembered her saying, “You can picture me fucking the bloody shit out of you until you nearly expire.” It was things like that he needed to remind himself of. Not him piercing her heart with Long Claw.

Drogon was still moving about, knocking whole limbs off the weirwoods. He tried to tell him to calm down as he struggled to stand. Val’s grave marker assisted him as he finally made it to his feet without falling. His knees wanted to give and his muscles burned, but he took a few steps and made it to Drogon.

Leaning against the beast, he muttered, “Let’s get out of here, boy. I think it’s time we went home to your mother.”

As they circled the copse of weirwoods and their oddly carved faces, crows by the hundreds cawed and took flight, surrounding them. Drogon burnt a few of them in irritation, and Jon laughed as he looked at Val’s burial spot one last time.

He had the feeling he would never see it again, but his heart did not hurt like he thought it would.

 

* * *

 

 **Author's Note** **:**  Jon's past has been revealed...what do you think?

 

The next few chapters will focus on his return flight to King's Landing and Dany's ongoing issues as queen.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom may not be all its cracked up to be.
> 
> Weakness only continues to grow in light of illness.
> 
> Lives begin falling apart as wrong choices come about...

**Author’s Note** : Hello all! This will be the first Sansa chapter I won’t have to warn about! Hopefully that’s a good thing. We get to see what’s happening with Sansa, Jon, and Tyrion this chapter.

 

High Valyrian definitions in the end of chapter notes.

 

Enjoy...

 

* * *

 

Chapter Seven

◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝

 

The Lost Queen

 

“Run!”

Sansa felt her foot slip in the snow, but kept going despite the pain. It was the middle of the night and freezing, but thankfully not snowing.

“Don’t stop, we can’t stop now!”

Her breath was hitching and she had a sharp stab in her side. Every few steps her booted feet would hit a jagged rock and she would nearly fall, but she refused to stop.

_I’m free._

She was hand in hand with Morella, their fingers intertwined tightly. They were carrying each other through the deep drifts, helping haul the other up when one fell. They had been running nearly nonstop for two hours. Desperation and the chance to finally be free fueled their strength. For the longest time she had not felt the weight on her back or the weakness in her legs, but it was starting to get to her and she was lagging behind.

“Morella, my legs—”

“If you stop now, you will be caught,” the girl said fiercely as she yanked her forward, staring her in the eyes. “We have no idea if anyone knows what happened yet. If we don’t get as far away as we can right _now,_ mounted men will find us. Don’t stop, Sansa. This is our chance. Push yourself. Push yourself harder than you ever have before.”

Her words spurred her on. She squeezed her new friend’s fingers as they drug their limbs through the knee-high snow. Her muscles burned in a way that she had never felt before, and soon the monotony of the agonizing movement dulled until it was pushed into the back of her mind. She felt herself withdrawing deep into herself to ignore the pain, and it worked well.

She had no idea how many hours they had been out in the cold when Morella found a small copse of twisted and bent trees on a flat side of a mountain. They pulled themselves through the deep snow into only a few inches of powder and the relief was palpable on their legs. Panting, they looked around for cover. Sharp boulders were scattered through the trees, and it looked like the most shelter they would have from the wind was only on one or two sides.

Morella pulled back her hood and her long, dull red hair whipped about her face in the frozen wind. “We can either stop now to rest for a bit, or we can keep going. I fear if we stop, we will not want to keep going. What do you think we should do?” Morella asked her, and Sansa chewed on her chapped lips. The cold and wind had long since chaffed her sensitive skin.

Her body craved rest. A warm fire. But neither was really possible. Not until they were far, far away from here.

“Let’s just go. If we stop, then I’ll just picture him in my mind...”

Morella nodded, her face pale even in the moonlight. Her red hair, much more lackluster than Sansa’s but still pretty, blew wildly about her face before she shoved it back under her black hood.

If they could make it to any town or city before too long, they might make it. They were heading in the direction they knew Wickenden to be, but with the cloud cover, it was next to impossible to have an idea of their course.

They walked and ran through the night, not stopping once. Sansa had forced down the vomit that had come several times from forcing her body to work so hard, but she swallowed it.

_I’m free. I’m free. I’m free..._

_I won't ever stop until I'm free..._

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

 _“_ _Sōvegon_ _eglikta,_ Drogon _! Eglikta!”_

Jon could feel the dragon’s wings struggling to bear his weight. For miles, Drogon had been breathing hard, smoke curling from his nose nearly continuously. Jon had encouraged him and stroked any part of his body that he could reach to comfort him, afraid that they might fall from the sky if he didn’t urge him to a safer place before they stopped.

The Twins had loomed near when Drogon’s wings had stuttered mid-flap, and they had dropped several feet before they had recovered. Jon had nearly shit his furs from the instant he had felt like he was going to die before Drogon had screeched and righted himself. His heart pounding, he began talking to his friend, pressing the beast to get to Riverrun, to Lord Edmure, before they stopped.

He had been tempted to land immediately. Drogon in any type of pain bothered him, and he didn’t want to do him permanent damage. But as the Twins had become visible on the horizon, a mixture of fear, disgust, and anger had swamped him. If Drogon had been in better shape, he wouldn’t have hesitated to destroy the castle in a fit of rage.

But neither of them were doing the best. It had been about a week since they had left the lands beyond the Wall and his cough had only just started receding. His strength was coming back slowly, but he was still not well. Drogon’s illness, whatever it was, had not improved. He no longer spun or played tricks with Jon in the air. Fire had not emerged from his throat since they had departed Val’s grave.

As they had neared The Crossing, real fear had hit Jon. On the roof of the castle, he had spotted something that made his blood run cold.

Men had mounted roughly hewn machines with huge arrows, and they were angled at the sky.

Drogon must have felt his panic, for he had forced himself into the clouds, out of the reach of the weapons that could kill him. Since then, he had been gradually lowering himself, getting weaker and weaker. Jon’s commands to fly higher went unheard after a while, and he dreaded the thought of landing anywhere near the Twins.

Drogon flew as long as he could...Jon knew he tried. He pushed himself as hard as he could before he started dropping quickly. Jon hauled back on the reins he never really used, trying to get Drogon to slow before they crashed. In the far off distance, he saw the walls of Riverrun, but it was many leagues away.

Jon bailed before Drogon crashed into a snowy field. He slammed into the ground with painful grunts, for his roll had failed. Instead he felt his leg wrench awkwardly, and he cursed as he laid in the snow.

Drogon’s shrieks worried him, but he was still laying on the ground when the beast walked over to him as if nothing had happened.

“You little shit, you just had to crash, didn’t you? You would have never done that to your mother,” he muttered, flexing his leg gingerly. Conveniently it wasn’t the one that had been shot through with an arrow, else he knew he would be feeling some kind of pain. Instead, it just seemed sore. He stood with relief and moved it around, glad that he was able to walk.

Drogon bent his head as if he was abashed. Jon stepped in front of him, running his hands over the sharp ridges before he laid his head upon the side of his snout. The dragon’s eyeball was bigger than his head, and it was amusing to see his pupil slit to nearly nothing so he could see Jon’s face.

“You ok, boy? Do you need me to look at anything?”

Drogon’s way of communicating with him to tell him to look somewhere usually involved moving his enormous body towards Jon and shifting the area that he wanted examined. He had remarkable control over the muscles in his frame, and could twitch them to gain Jon’s attention. If the area could move, such as a wing or leg, he usually repositioned the limb several times to show Jon to look there.

Drogon essentially collapsed in front of him after he asked him. Startled, Jon stepped back, righting himself after the ground trembled. The dragon was turning his head back towards his legs, and Jon instantly noticed what was wrong.

His stomach was horribly swollen. He immediately moved towards it and pressed his hands against the taut flesh, feeling how unnaturally warm and hard it was. Drogon was making a keening noise in his chest, a sound Jon had never heard him make before.

“This can’t be good,” Jon murmured, pushing firmly against the dragon’s belly in a massaging manner. He took cues from the noises his friend made, and it seemed like he was enjoying the pressure Jon was exerting. He had to use his whole body and all of his strength to make any kind of an impact, but Drogon seemed pleased with the attention.

After exhausting his meager strength on Drogon’s stomach, he went to the thick leather straps that held the saddle onto the dragon’s back and undid the several buckles. They nearly exploded off from pressure when Jon had them loosened enough. Drogon exhaled and inhaled deeply, then shook his entire body, from his nose to his tail, and flapped his wings. He seemed much happier.

“Better?” Jon asked, walking back to the dragon’s head. Drogon’s eyes were hooded and he looked like he was smiling, if a dragon could do such a thing.

His nose went straight to Jon’s chest, where he took in a great whiff. Jon clung to his snout and laughed as Drogon breathed him in. “It’s alright, boy. Thankfully I’ve ridden you without a saddle, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

He went back around and tried to pull the massive leather structure off Drogon’s back. After placing both of his feet against his side and pulling, he managed to get it to slide off. Immediately several splines flexed and popped up in a deadly spray in the area the saddle had rested on. Jon laughed again and climbed his way up Drogon’s side, wanting to inspect the areas the saddle had rested on.

Everything looked fine, no sores or signs of agitation. He moved his hands around the ridges and spines and it looked like the saddle had just been entirely too tight. Jon had let it out two or three times before this, and there had been no more holes for the buckle to slide into to loosen it. It just had to come off.

“Looks like we are going to have to make you a new one, Drogon. How does that sound?” he asked, looking to see if the dragon had an acceptable area for him to sit on now that the saddle was gone. His entire body was like armor and death combined, but just like Rhaegal and Viserion, he had a perfect spot above the joints of his wings where a person could sit and not be stabbed or injured. Hopefully.

He moved to the site, wanting to test out sitting there. He walked along Drogon’s spine as if he did it every day, and the dragon laid perfectly still.

“Let’s see here. I haven’t done this in over a year,” he chuckled, remembering when Daenerys had first brought her dragons to the Wall. All three had been ridden without saddles for quite some time, and he could vividly remember Tyrion complaining that his rump was permanently damaged from riding Rhaegal across the sea to Castle Black. Ser Barristan had ridden Viserion, and had taken the trip much better in his armor, than Tyrion had just sitting on a thick blanket that had been lain across the dragon’s back.

There hadn’t been time to make saddles when they had been fighting at the Wall. It was jump on the dragon and burn wights and Others—constant fighting for months. The only thing they’d had to hold them onto the beasts were their legs and makeshift reins. Their supplies had been too low to worry about such a thing, and once Dany had seen Jon emerge from the flames, the instant adoration and joy he had gotten from her as her newly discovered kin had been intense. They had shared Drogon’s back more times than he could count as she taught him what she knew.

_I miss her._

The thought was disquieting, for he usually fought anything that came to mind about her. He was afraid to think of her. He was afraid to go home to her and her undeniable wrath. But it didn’t change the fact that he missed her.

_I have nowhere else to go._

Drogon flexed his wings below him and then flapped them several times. Surprised, Jon gripped the lethal spline in front of him, the one that could puncture his chest if he wasn’t careful.

“Can you fly?” he asked, feeling the dragon’s body vibrate in a way that meant that he was going to take to the air.

Relieved, he held on tight as Drogon shrieked and beat his wings hard, lifting them off the snowy plain. He watched below as the mass of leather was left behind, until the air grew colder and colder and they were in the clouds again.

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

“I will resign immediately if you allow this to happen, Daenerys.”

She was pissed. The look on her face would have slayed him if he were a lesser man.

He chuckled to himself.

“You will resign as Hand of the Queen because she is marrying me? You Lannisters are some of the most—”

She turned to Trystane and glared at him. “I did not ask you to speak,” she said, immediately turning back to Tyrion. They were in the throne room, with her sitting on the Iron Throne, perched quite prettily in her shimmering black and red dress. Beside her, in the spot normally reserved for Jon or the Hand, sat Trystane, who was bristling at her words but remained silent.

“You are promised to Prince Jon. Do not betray him with this...this boy,” he spat, anger growing.

“You dare speak to me of betrayal, Lord Tyrion? When Jon, my betrothed, stole my most powerful dragon and fled mere days before our wedding? Who has been gone for over two moons? Who is to say that he is not gathering an army in the North? Rallying troops in the Stark name? Who is to say—?”

“That is all speculation, Your Grace. You _know_ Jon would never do such a thing. He has been loyal to you from the beginning. The man has a greater claim to the throne than you do, but he _gave_ it to you. Daenerys, if that is betrayal, then I am not a Lannister and do not pay my debts.”

The fire in her face was beginning to cool. She looked uncertain for the merest of moments before she recovered, throwing her shoulders back and lifting her chin haughtily into the air.

“Aegon had the greatest claim of us all. He was the eldest male. The true Heir Apparent. But he got himself killed in an attempt to save Arianne Martell’s life in battle near Summerhall, only days away from King's Landing. Now Trystane rules Dorne. The Dornish have been supporters of the Targaryen line for years, when no one else was. I owe—”

“Varys, Illyrio—”

“Do not interrupt me again, Lord Tyrion.” Her voice had risen, and he fought the urge to yell at her for being a silly girl. He couldn’t tell if she was being a queen or being a jealous, betrayed child.

“I owe Trystane more than I owe Jon. Trystane has helped pull Westeros out of debt with the Iron Bank. The city is once again under control because we are to be wed. We can begin rebuilding—”

“You owe Jon _nothing?_ You owe him your life! You owe him absolutely _everything!_ He _saved_ Westeros! We would not _be_ here if not for him—”

“That no longer means anything in light of his deception. He has betrayed me, and therefore has betrayed Westeros. He has betrayed the people just as he has saved them.”

Tyrion felt the strength draining from his body. He felt his age and his aches and pains. “You will receive my official resignation on the morrow. Is there anything else you wish of me, Your Grace?”

She stood from her throne, her face red. “You would abandon me when I need you most?” she asked, and he could hear unsaid words in her question.

“Your Grace, several years ago a man by the name of Eddard Stark resigned from his position as Hand of the King because King Robert wanted to have you murdered. The hired hands he wanted to send to kill you was against everything that Ned Stark stood for. This man was so honorable, that he himself could have sat on the Iron Throne upon your father’s death, but did not. He resigned because it was not right, to have a young girl with child killed. I will resign because this is not right. Jon is coming back. I know it, in my heart.”

Tyrion watched her face fall. Trystane had lifted himself from his cushioned seat to stand next to her, and Tyrion couldn’t help but think of how poorly they matched. Of how different it had been seeing Jon standing next to Dany. Even though Trystane was younger and less experienced, Trystane stood next to her as if he was better.

Jon had stood next to her as if they were equal.

“If you leave, Tyrion...you will tear this family apart,” she said quietly. He heard the sadness in her tone, the desperation.

“You already have,” he said softly as he went to turn away, but he saw her step down from her throne of melted swords out of the corner of his eye. Her footfalls were heavy, and reverberated through the cavernous room.

“I will command you to stay. You are irreplaceable.”

“If you can so easily replace a king, then so too can you a Hand!” he yelled cruelly, watching as she flinched. He stared her in the eyes, disgusted, as he bowed mockingly.

Then he walked out of her life.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Author’s Note** : Has Sansa truly escaped? Will she be able to make it through the mountains to Wickenden?

 

Will Drogon make it back to King's Landing? His illness is only getting worse...

 

Daenerys may think she has saved the city by denouncing her betrothal to Jon and instead accepting Trystane, but there are other aspects of her life that are falling apart because of it. Will Dany realize her mistakes before Jon makes it King's Landing? Or will Jon come home to something he never expected? Until next time...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sōvegon eglikta, Drogon! Eglikta!”
> 
> Sōvegon - Fly
> 
> Eglikta - Higher
> 
> "Fly higher, Drogon! Higher!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prophecies and duties...
> 
> Souls joined once more...
> 
> Freedom shall be won, one way or another...

**Author’s Note** : A look at what Daenerys is thinking, along with some back story on Trystane and Dorne. Jon feels something he hasn’t known he has been missing. Sansa realizes that she will never accept being a slave again, and ensures that happens.

 

Posted because I have some true fans who beg me to add a chapter :P Let me know what you think. Enjoy

 

* * *

 

Chapter Eight

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Daenerys

 

“You look incredible.”

She waved her hand through the air in dismissal of Trystane’s compliment. He had been following her all day and she was tired of his presence. Ghost, who stood next to her, bared his unnaturally long, sharp teeth.

The direwolf _hated_ Trystane.

Ghost was the epitome of a well-trained pet. Even though Jon had never seen Ghost as a pet and more of a friend, Ghost behaved impeccably as if he had been trained as one. Ever since Jon had left, the direwolf had been an extension of her. He was at her side unless she ordered him away or made him stay in her chambers. He slept either in her bed or in front of her fireplace, depending on his mood. He tagged along with her, ever present, ever silent.

At least, until Trystane had arrived at court and began spending time with her.

Even before their betrothal had been announced, Ghost had shown his dislike of the prince. The normally silent wolf would growl and snarl at Trystane. He had even snapped at him once, when Ghost had been rubbing against Dany, more or less claiming her as his, and Trystane had gotten too close. It had been as if he was saying, “Get away from my human.” It probably hadn’t helped that the Dornish prince had been speaking of Jon in less than complimentary ways. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do so.

Just the previous day, Trystane had been speaking of the time they had arrived in Dorne with their dragons, what was left of the Unsullied, some Dothraki, and a ragtag army of men from places like the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Westerlands. The army wasn’t entirely impressive, but it had been enough for her to give people pause. Not a single man or woman in Westeros had given her an issue with bending the knee, not even the Iron Islands, but she had worried of Dorne.

The land was unforgiving. So were the people. She had been stared at with snarling lips by many of the people, as she and Jon had walked into Sunspear. She had wanted to come into the city with peace, for Dorne had proven themselves to be allies of Aegon and even her when they had sent Quentyn, but she had heard nothing from them after Quentyn’s death. Aegon had fallen in battle in the south with Arianne, and Doran had supposedly died from heartbreak over his family being killed. All that had been left was Prince Trystane, and the curl of his lip had been unpleasant when they had arrived in his throne-like great hall.

“So, these are the people that have saved Westeros. I am not impressed.”

Jon had been through the worst of it, as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He had seen so much death that she had feared for his state of mind. However, he had held himself together for their campaigning, being surprisingly diplomatic and understanding of people’s needs. He cared for smallfolk and nobility alike, but he had been tired. She had seen it in his body and eyes. Months of traveling had taken its toll.

But it hadn’t stopped him from placing his hand upon the pommel of his legendary sword.

She did not bow, and nor did Jon. Trystane had been smirking from the dais, surrounded by numerous guards and family.

“You need not be impressed,” Jon had said. “Just swear fealty and we will be on our way. We have been at war for years. We do not want to start another.”

The sarcastic clapping had irritated her. “Ah, Jon Snow. Or Jon Stark. Or Jon Targaryen. What do you call yourself? You have so many names.” Trystane had laughed, as had the court around them.

“Your Grace.”

Dany had almost burst out laughing. She had forced herself to remain rigid. The people around them had quieted at his Jon’s harsh voice. She had placed her hand gently upon his arm, for his thumb had lifted his sword just the slightest bit out of its scabbard. There were several gasps, and she saw Trystane shift upon his golden chair.

“Your Grace, then. I see you wish to bare your weapons in this room of harmony. You just stated you wish not to cause war. And your woman has to stop you? Tsk, tsk.” Trystane wagged his finger at them, drawing laughter once more.

“This woman is your queen. Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons. You are disrespecting her, despite our peaceful entrance into Dorne.”

Trystane had mused at them, rubbing his chin. “I apologize, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect, of course. Just having a bit of fun, is all.” He then had looked at Jon, cocking his head. His black hair had fallen perfectly across his forehead. “I have heard Lightbringer has been reforged. Or recreated, however you wish to say it. Perhaps you will honor us with a showing of it, Prince Jon? I think all of us here in Dorne would love to see the sword that brought the dawn and ended the white walkers. The stories are impressive.”

The fury on Jon’s face had been so intense she had feared what he would do. But she had not wanted to fawn over him any more than she already had. He was a man, and she did not want to show any weakness.

“You jape about something you know nothing of. The thousands upon thousands of people that died, when you had no involvement. You stayed in the south while the north suffered unbearable losses...and you want to see my sword?”

Trystane’s face had shown his displeasure. “We in Dorne have suffered our own, Prince Jon. Do not speak of something you also have no knowledge of—”

“I know that you joined the side of Aegon and lost both him and Arianne. Tens of thousands of men died breaking themselves against the army of Tywin Lannister in an attempt to protect King’s Landing. Your family inadvertently killed Myrcella Baratheon, made Queen Cersei go mad, and caused an unknown amount of deaths across the realm because of your thoughtless actions. If you had just waited, or joined us in the North, many would still be alive. Aegon would still be alive. But you couldn’t wait. Your greed was so extreme that you almost cost the entirety of Westeros. You are lucky that Daenerys was smart enough to go north rather than south, else we would all be dead.”

The room had been silent. Trystane’s face had been blank. Then he had looked away. She had sworn he had been sad. His words had affirmed that.

“I would do anything to see Arianne again. My father. Cousins. Too many mistakes were made trying to put Aegon upon the Iron Throne. Myrcella...my love. It should have been me.”

He had stepped down from the dais and walked towards them. She had stood stiffly next to Jon, but the guards around them had pressed their spears forward, uncertain.

Trystane waved his arms through the air. “I apologize, Your Graces. You are right, Prince Jon. Too much war has been waged. Too many lives lost. Dorne has been a staunch supporter of the Targaryens for a long time. I wish us to become friends once more. Whatever you need, it is yours.”

Then he had bowed, and she had drawn in a breath of relief.

Trystane’s attitude towards Jon during their negotiations had been irritating. She hadn’t understood it for the longest time, until Missandei had spoken with her in private. At first, the girl had thought Trystane disliked him because he was supposedly a bastard, given a name by Daenerys upon discovery that he was her kin, but she had learned that the Dornish did not feel anything negative against bastards.

Then Missandei had told her that she had overheard Trystane speaking to his family. That he was going to be king, to marry Myrcella, the last Baratheon. That Queen Cersei had been arranging it. The High Sparrow had hated the Queen however, and it had been a struggle of power.

Trystane resented Jon and possibly Daenerys, because he was meant to be on the Iron Throne.

His attitude had never changed, even now that he was going to be king.

When he had spoken to her yesterday, he had acted as if the first meeting between them had been wonderful, as if he had never insulted either her or Jon.

Perhaps that’s why Ghost hated him so.

She sat now at her table in her chambers, staring at a vase of dead purple flowers that she still held dear despite their shriveled appearance. Ghost was sitting next to her, taller than she was as always. Her hand was in his fur, stroking him over and over again.

It calmed her, when all she knew in her soul was sadness and anger.

She could feel, rather than hear, the vibration of the growl Ghost was giving off. The most subtle of threats. She gave him long, soothing strokes of her hand, hoping to relax him and her at the same time.

“Trystane, I wish to be alone. Is there something you need?” she asked, gazing into his handsome face. He was immaculately dressed as was customary for him, and she could smell the thick, spicy scent that he had sprayed upon himself.

_I miss his smell every time Trystane perfumes himself._

She sighed, plopping her head in her hand as Trystane sat at the table with her. He took her free hand, and she had to fight herself to not pull away. “I just wanted to spend time with you, my queen. In a sennight we shall be wed. Are you not excited?”

She could not answer that question without hurting them both. While the physical attraction remained, she knew that marrying Trystane was entirely out of duty.

Duty, not love.

_Mother of dragons...child of three...three heads has the dragon...mother of dragons...child of storm..._

_Three fires must you light...one for life and one for death and one to love..._

_Three mounts must you ride...one to bed and one to dread and one to love..._

_Three treasons will you know...once for blood and once for gold and once for love..._

None of the prophecies had been fulfilled that she knew of. They could be interpreted so many different ways. The one that she knew for sure hadn’t been fulfilled was the three mounts, in which she would love one of them. She stared at her future husband and tried to see where he might come into play in one or more of the prophecies.

“Of course I am excited,” she answered, lying easily. His hand grasping hers squeezed before he began caressing her skin softly.

“I want to take you to Dorne after we are wed. I think the sun and warmth would make you happy. I have seen you smile less and less as the weeks go by.”

The Keep had been overflowing with guests for over three moons waiting for a royal wedding. More people showed up every day, including many from the great _khalasar_ that she had left behind back at Vaes Dothrak when she had departed with Drogon after being captured. The few visiting Dothraki at court had everyone nervous, and it was hard to teach them what was proper in Westeros. The lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms were restless, wanting to see a king on the throne. The High Sparrow sent veiled threats daily, and his so-called peaceful Faith Militant still patrolled the streets.

_I cannot wait to get rid of them. Soon I shall have enough power to do just that._

Trystane had convinced her shortly after their rendezvous in the godswood to marry him, despite Tyrion’s hatred of him. It had immediately settled the riots in the city when she had reluctantly accepted. She had not had the liberty or luxury to wait any longer for Jon. It was either marry Trystane, someone else, or send her army and dragons into the city and potentially ruin everything she had worked so hard for.

The people were not very excited that a Dornish prince would be king, despite being appeased that a man would rule next to her. The savior of Westeros was meant to be their king; Jon was the man that they really wanted, but they did not understand that Jon was either not coming back, or would not make it in time. The Faith Militant controlled the smallfolk, threatened them, and therefore her—and in the end, Jon could not be the one, unless he made it back on time...

She longed to see him. She missed her dragon. She wanted them both back. The desperation she felt to have them both returned to her had sent her into the godswood several times since his disappearance to pray to the Old Gods, the gods that Jon worshipped. She thought that maybe they would listen since they were his gods.

_Please bring them both back home safe. Let my marriage be happy. Let Jon find a woman he loves to continue our dynasty. Let the Seven Kingdoms unite and finally stop the fighting._

“I think I would enjoy seeing Dorne, Trystane. Nevertheless, several matters will need to be attended to in order for Westeros to be at peace once more. I think that any traveling we have in mind will need to wait, at least for a bit. I have not even dealt with the North as of yet. Let the people see you and learn to love you. Fealties need to be sworn to you. I would like for you to settle into your role before we worry about ourselves.”

He was frowning. “In Dorne, it is customary for the newly wedded couple to travel and spend time together. Make love.”

She nearly laughed in his face.

_Make love. Is that what you think we are doing?_

Instead, struggling to keep her composure, she drew in a hardy breath. She tried to think of what to say without offending him. Her hand twitched in his hold. “We will fuck plenty here in the holdfast. We can fuck anywhere we want in the Keep if it would please you. But we will _not_ travel. When I feel it is a good time to leave, I will let you know. Until then, perish the thought.”

He stood, ripping his hand out of hers, his face hard and his body rigid with anger. He looked at her in such a way that it reminded her of disappointment and disgust, mixed with lust. Almost like Viserys was standing next to her. “Daenerys, I understand that you shall be the true ruler. That I am meant to just be a figure with little to no power. That the whole purpose of this marriage is so you can stop the fighting and war that is brewing because a woman is upon the throne. The rest of Westeros is not Dorne, where we would not see this as a problem. But listen to me, Daenerys. I might be younger than you, but I am a man, a Dornish man. I am passionate. A lover of women. We see things differently than most men you have met. It will take time for me to learn what you want and will accept of me. But do not forget, although you are queen, that I am a prince, ruling Dorne.”

Her lips thinned as he walked away, his two favored guards following and slamming the richly carved double doors after him. Her own guards stood stiffly, their fingers curled around the hilts of their swords.

Her hand had fisted in Ghost’s fur, and she turned to look at him. As if knowing she was irritated at Trystane’s veiled threat, he bent his great head and stuck his muzzle into her hair, thoroughly ruining the intricate braids her Dothraki handmaidens had achieved for her. She turned to the wolf and wrapped her arms around him as much as she could, considering his size.

“What am I going to do, Ghost?”

His soft whine made her chest hurt.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

_I can feel him._

Jon felt his smile grow until it hurt his face. His heart pounded and goose bumps spread across his whole body.

_I’m almost home, boy._

He could feel his excitement. It was contagious, and Jon urged Drogon faster. The dragon, still unwell but sensing Jon’s exhilaration, flew faster.

“You will see your mother soon, Drogon. Let’s go!”

The burst of speed he put on nearly knocked him off his back, but Jon clung tightly, squeezing his sides with his legs.

He had not felt Ghost in so long. It had to be moons. The comforting presence in the back of his mind was always constant when they were near each other. When they were a few days’ worth of travel from each other, the sensation slowly went away until it was gone entirely. Jon had unconsciously learned this when Ghost had been lost behind the Wall years ago. He hadn’t realized that something was missing until he had felt him again.

It was almost as if a painful vice in his chest was released as Ghost’s presence grew and grew. It was another one of those things that he hadn’t realized was wrong until it was back.

Without much thought he felt himself losing all sense of who and what he was. The snowy world around him melted until colors shifted violently, along with all perception of his body.

He wasn’t controlling him this time, as he often did. Instead, he was merely observing, a fragment in the back of Ghost’s mind, taking a back seat. The direwolf was in a warm room, and the only light came from a fireplace blazing across from a sprawling bed covered in furs, satin, and velvet. Curtains were drawn tightly over the windows, and initially Jon thought that he was just resting, alone.

Until he heard the sobs.

His spectral heart pounded as Ghost turned to see the body lying on the bed. When he saw that it was his bed, he knew immediately who was laying upon its downy surface.

_Daenerys..._

Jon tried to search his friend’s mind for similar occurrences. What was wrong? Why was she crying? Did this happen often?

He couldn’t find anything that made him think that Dany had done anything like this previously. He could, however, see that Ghost had followed her as he had told him to. He had protected her in his absence, just as he had asked.

So, if this was the first time she was weeping, what was wrong?

The cries coming from his bed were more like wails than sobs. They were loud and ugly, and didn’t seem to belong to the queen who was always so perfect around everyone else.

Her face was smashed into one of his pillows, trying to hide the sounds, but Ghost’s superior hearing picked them up with startling clarity.

Jon felt himself nudging Ghost aside and taking control. There was no hesitation in his friend as he let him take over his body and mind, and he settled contentedly in the background somewhere, waiting for Jon to leave.

He was on the vast bed as soon as he had full control. It dipped under his weight, and he took several steps until he saw her fully.

She was dressed in a sheer white nightgown, and he could see the outline of her curves through the fabric from the flickering firelight. She looked thinner than he had last seen her, but he hoped that it was a trick on Ghost’s eyes. He doubted it, however.

He pressed himself against her side and dug his muzzle under her arm, where her head was hidden. She stopped mid-wail and looked at him, just staring at him with her red-rimmed, watery eyes. She must have been crying for quite some time.

She ran her hand over his soft ears again and again. He felt himself lulled by the sensation, growing sleepy until she buried her face in his fur. She sniffled several times until she pulled back and began petting him again.

“I’m so glad your daddy didn’t take you with him, Ghost. I don’t know what I would do without you. I feel like you’re my only friend. The only one who doesn’t judge me.”

The low whine he let out was involuntary as he broke his silence. Vulnerable Daenerys was incredibly rare and it hurt him to know that he was the cause of this pain. She was the strongest person he had ever met—she had lost everything and gained it all, but only through suffering and constant death. She had fought her whole life for what she felt was hers, and when it was finally in her grasp, he left her.

_This is my fault._

He knew it was him she was crying about. Undoubtedly there were other reasons, but he just knew that he was the stem of all the problems she was crying over.

She was staring at him. Jon wished there was a way to tell her that it was he that was there, and not Ghost. Instead, he began licking her face, making her sputter and laugh as she batted him away gently.

She was giving him a pitiful smile now. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, his tail thumping against the bed. It shook the wooden frame.

“You haven’t given me kisses since before Jon left. It’s been a while. I’ve almost missed your direwolf breath,” she said teasingly, amusement in her wavering voice.

His tail thumped faster and she laughed, hugging him. “You always know how to make me happy. It’s such a pity that I couldn’t trade you in for your daddy, though.”

Jon wanted to get her to elaborate, but she just ended up curling against him and petting him until she fell asleep. He stayed with her until her breathing fell into an even rhythm, and she was letting out the most adorable little snore he’d ever heard.

He nearly wrenched himself off Drogon his return to his body was so fast and sudden. He must have been falling asleep as Ghost for him to do that.

The sun had set. The air felt warmer than it had just a day before, and he knew that he was nearly back to King’s Landing. Drogon’s pounding wings were flying sure and swift, faster than he had flown in a long time. He felt his mother, just as he felt his direwolf.

“Don’t stop, Drogon. We will be there soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

It was the first time she’d had real food in her stomach in days. The constant clawing and growling pain was now lessening, and she closed her eyes as she chewed the dry rabbit meat.

They had been fleeing for over a week now. They had gotten to Wickenden in five days, their bodies stiff and sore and weak. They had found an old barn filled with hay, covered themselves with it, and fallen asleep for half a day before they were up again and finding safe passage across the Bay of Crabs.

Sansa had been the one who had stolen several coins from Petyr’s chest he kept in his room. Morella had been the one to bring food, blankets, and two bags for them to carry extras.

The money had come in handy with the crossing, and now came in handy for the warm, albeit tasteless food. They had risked stopping at a shady inn on their travel to King’s Landing, but they kept their voices low and their faces hidden as best they could. They had went to a dark corner and turned away from the rest of the patrons, hoping to eat and leave.

It was getting warmer the further away they got from the Eyrie. Sansa could feel that winter was starting to grow weak and spring was chasing its heels. The dream of spring was fresh in her mind, and she could almost picture the grass and flowers sprouting.

Other dreams haunted her sleep as well. Petyr’s blood on the floor, his head twisted at an odd angle as Morella held the chamber pot in her shaking hands, her chest heaving violently.

“You will never touch us again,” she had spat, rushing into action right after killing Sansa’s husband.

It had been the middle of the night when it had happened and the entire castle was asleep. Even the guards has nodded off outside the chambers. They had managed to stuff several items into their bags and dress in plenty of layers to ward off the cold. Sansa had literally thrown clothes at Morella, for her servants garb was not satisfactory. Layering was the only way that they would keep warm without shelter and fire.

It had been easier than she had thought to escape. Guards were not as plentiful as they had once been. The mountains of the Eyrie were impossible to access during the winter, so they had no one they had to guard from. The only shock had been from the queen and prince showing up several moons prior, but they had been on the backs of dragons.

She would often picture his blood every time she closed her eyes. It made her stomach churn to think of it, and she set the remains of her food back on her trencher.

“What’s wrong? You need to eat. You are entirely too thin, Sansa. You need to keep your strength up.”

Sansa forced a smile. “I will save it for later. Are you ready to go?” she asked, wrapping the meat in a linen handkerchief. The corner was embroidered with a mockingbird. Morella watched her closely for a moment before she nodded.

“Let’s go. If we are lucky, we will be in King’s Landing in a few weeks. Earlier, if the weather changes for the better.”

Sansa nodded, looking around the room before she slipped the old knife that had come with her meal into the folds of her gown.

_I am free, and I plan to stay that way, one way or another._

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s Note** :  Dany longs for Jon to return, but Jon has less than a week to make it back. Will he make it in time?

 

Does anyone see where Trystane could possibly fit into one of the prophecies? What about Jon?

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Appearances aren't all they seem...  
> Sometimes lust and desire do not mean happiness...  
> Words really can break bones...and hearts...

**Author’s Note** : Here is a bit of a longer chapter for everyone! Enjoy :)

 

* * *

 

Chapter Nine

 

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Ser Barristan

 

The wedding was in three days. Three days, and Prince Trystane would be king, the Dornish prince who should not have been.

Ser Barristan did not hate the handsome prince. He was a decently good man it seemed. A bit cocky and full of piss, but not bad.

However, he was not Prince Jon. He had met the unknown Targaryen prince some moons after he had been resurrected, when he had been chasing the tail of a wildling girl and fighting to save the Wall, the North, and Westeros. He’d been bitter much of the time, having no patience after he had been betrayed. Time and war had dulled those feelings, and he had watched him become a man, a man that made the queen’s eyes light up every time he was near her. Now, almost two years after first meeting the boy, after watching the relationship change between the two young monarchs, it hurt to witness how destroyed Daenerys was over him abandoning her.

She denied it and hid it well, but he could see it in her sad eyes, so much like Rhaegar’s.

She was youthful and sometimes had difficulty separating her heart from the path of a great queen. He had advised her many times, and even he sometimes struggled with not telling her to follow her young girl’s heart. The queen had suffered much in her lifetime, including the deaths of family, lovers, and husbands. She had burned cities to the ground and killed thousands. She could be bloodthirsty and loving all in the same breath, but with Jon leaving, it seemed to be having a negative effect on her. He could see what losing Jon was doing to her, whether she wanted him to see it or not.

He honestly feared the Targaryen madness was taking seed in her mind, but he prayed for it to not be so.

He was watching her now, as he often did. He had stood by her side since the moment he had found her and he knew that he would die before he left her. She was reading a scroll that had been handed to her by Missandei, and was frowning. For once Trystane was missing. He could see the tension in her stance was not quite as bad as it was when he was around. He himself felt his old bones relaxing. The prince was so stiff and formal sometimes that it reminded him of the old Daenerys, before they had went to the Wall.

She had changed so much over the last few years. She had went from the hard, serious girl queen in Meereen to a woman more willing to smile and care. Tyrion and she often spoke of their “family”, and Barristan knew himself to be amongst that family. It gave him a feeling of warmth that he had been missing since Prince Rhaegar had died. He imagined that it gave Daenerys that same feeling, a comforting sensation that she had not had in possibly her whole life. Maybe that was why she had changed.

He had seen her shifting back into the cold, calculating queen she had once been, however. The last two moons or so had seen a queen who was less willing to appreciate the suffering of her people. She had banished, executed, and put several people in chains without a second thought, even for petty crimes. It was as if she was taking the riots and bad things that had happened in the city when the High Sparrow had been flooding the streets with his Faith Militant out on the smallfolk. Barristan had counseled her against all of it, but she had been firm in her decisions. The looks he had shared with Tyrion and Missandei had shown him that they were also thinking the same thing as he was.

Tyrion was now gone. He had left quite some time before, shortly after resigning from Hand of the Queen. Barristan had pled with him not to leave, but he would have none of it. He did not want to be part of any regime with Prince Trystane as king. Tyrion had begged Dany not to marry the Dornish prince for all the right reasons, but she would not listen.

The conversation he’d had with Tyrion had been enlightening.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Lord Tyrion.”_

_Tyrion’s face twisted into something of a sneer when he saw him standing in the doorway. With his missing nose, it was rather disturbing to gaze upon. “Has the queen has sent you on her behalf to plead with me a final time not to leave?”_

_“Her Grace has not sent me. I am here on her behalf, yes...but I am here to ask you not to leave. For the sake of the kingdom.”_

_“This kingdom is shit. This situation is shit. Daenerys is going to single-handedly ruin all of the hard work we have done as a family. What a great queen we have raised from the ashes, Ser Barristan.” Tyrion paused as he gathered a small chest in his arms. “She should be here. Pleading. Begging. Prostrating herself before me. Not you, my old friend.”_

_Ser Barristan frowned. “She is a busy woman. Men like us are meant to bring messages, protect her, and guide her. Be there for her. With you leaving, she is going to be lost. You are there for her more than anyone else is. You understand this kingdom...she does not.”_

_Tyrion had directed the last of the servants out of the bedchamber for the Hand. Nearly everything was gone, except for the large bed and several chests, which he imagined would be removed shortly._

_“Her Grace wants me to be there for her? She should have listened to my sage advice, then. When have I ever been wrong, Ser Barristan? When? Never, that’s when. I might be a dwarf, but I am an incredibly intelligent and seasoned dwarf. I have read nearly every book that has ever been touched by mine own eyes. I have traveled the world. I speak several different languages. I know things, Ser. I have never led her astray. But she will not listen to this dwarf, the dwarf she appointed as her Hand. I am aware that she is queen and can decline my advice. But out of all the times she could have, she chose this time. And it was wrong.”_

_Ser Barristan understood, but only to a certain extent. He admitted he was not as smart as Lord Tyrion, for he was a knight. He had read few books in his life. His experience came from watching and listening and old age._

_“Lord Tyrion, if I may...why are you so adamant that Prince Trystane not become king? He is a good man. Not the best, of course, but there are not too many men that I would place that high. I think he will make a fine king.”_

_Tyrion laughed and waved his stubby arms around the room as if gesturing to something. Perhaps he was gesturing to everything. “Have you talked with the boy? He told me to my face that he would be king. The arrogance was unbelievable. And I told him that I would never let it happen. Well, I was wrong. But honestly, truthfully, it is because Jon is better than him.”_

_Barristan listened as Tyrion talked of the relationship differences between Daenerys and Trystane in comparison to Daenerys and Jon. He had personally witnessed the stress and agitation that Trystane caused Daenerys, and the contentment and soothing effect Jon seemed to have on Daenerys. Jon calmed her raging fire. But Trystane made it burn out of control._

_“Did you see how Jon started treating her after they became betrothed? Flowers. She has them still sitting on her table, possibly one of the most depressing things I’ve ever witnessed. I have seen Jon bestow kindness and generosity upon her when he did not have to. Just by going riding with her, he showed her things that no other man ever had, at least not in the way Jon did. The man gave up the throne for her when the High Sparrow said it was Jon’s right.” He paused and drew in a long, agitated breath. “Have I mentioned that his direwolf adores her? The creature will not leave her side. And Ghost despises Trystane. I have heard it said that animals can see into the soul of a man. What does this say about our future king?”_

_He went on and on about how Trystane wouldn’t make a bad king, but he would not make a great king, like Jon would._

_“Trystane does not identify with the smallfolk. Not too many people in our position do, but Jon does. He was raised a bastard, he was in the Night's Watch, he rose on his own to greatness. The commoners see that and love him. He saved them, Dany saved them. Trystane did not,” the small man said, staring at him. His mismatched eyes were firm, as were his words._

_“Jon cares about them. He goes into the city, speaks to them, and buys their wares. He employs them. Trystane disdains them.”_

_Then Tyrion smirked. “Oh, and he’s Dornish.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Barristan had the feeling most of Tyrion’s reasoning was because he was quite fond of Jon, knew the youth was troubled, and wanted to help him. Tyrion had been more willing to go to war to have Daenerys wait for Jon than to placate the High Sparrow, who he despised, rather than have her marry the next man in line.

It had been incredibly depressing to watch the dwarf’s household leave King’s Landing. Two score guard, ten or so servants, three squires, his mistress Alestra, and then her large household from her abode in the city that also consisted of Lannister guards and servants. The woman had touched Barristan’s sleeve before they had departed, and he had nodded to her. She smiled sadly, and then they were gone.

Daenerys was desperate to find someone to replace Tyrion. Apparently, she had not realized the sheer amount of work the man put in, for suddenly she was working much harder than usual. Several suggestions had come to her on who could replace Tyrion, but she had dismissed all of them.

Barristan could tell that no one would settle other than the half-man, at least not in her eyes.

Tyrion was one of the bold few who told Daenerys how it was. He did not sugar coat or tell her what she wanted to be told. His advice had been solid from the beginning, and his perverted sense of humor often had Daenerys in stitches after she had gotten to know him.

Tyrion had also saved Daenerys’ life several times since they had met. He was extremely quick of wit and not too bad in battle, despite his size. He proved a formidable dragon rider and had helped Daenerys learn much about them from his own personal studies.

When the training of the two feral dragons—Viserion and Rhaegal—had become a problem that needed resolved, he had been the one to come up with a reward system for them when they performed as wanted. They were definitely still volatile at times, but at least could be ridden by a select few and obey commands when offered rewards. Tyrion and Daenerys had been discussing bringing a maester from Oldtown to King’s Landing with any dragonlore available in the old libraries, but had never gotten the chance with the upcoming wedding and riots in the city.

It was growing late. He had met her in her private chambers early in the morning to make sure the final touches were completed on the Queensguard and escort for the wedding. After leaving to attend to several matters, he had returned to see her still working.

He was accustomed to standing for hours on end, and found it easy to watch her and keep her safe. Even after doing so all afternoon and leaving to check the change of the guard, he had returned to see her still working.

_She is burying herself in duties to distract herself. Will this be what it will be like after she is married? Will she work her life away to divert herself from her misery?_

Missandei was constantly touching her. It did not slip by him that the girl missed being in her queen’s bed. He had even seen Daenerys grab her fingers and squeeze them before she released them and began writing again.

“Your Grace, we should stop for the day. We do not want your eyes to look tired on the morrow,” the scribe said, her fingers stroking the queen’s hip-length hair. Daenerys raised those weary eyes to Missandei’s, and for the briefest of seconds, he saw her lower lip tremble.

He did not wait to see if she cried. He could not stand to see her do so. Instead, he stepped away to order hot water for a bath, wine, and sweets brought to her chambers immediately.

The servants were amazingly efficient and had all orders completed in a matter of moments. Daenerys gave him a look of amusement as men brought in large buckets of water, and he resumed his spot in the corner, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Ser Barristan, you are a good man,” she said quietly, stepping up to him after quitting her work for the day. Her hand fluttered to his face, and he smiled softly at the touch of her slight fingers.

“As is my duty, Your Grace. Shall I dismiss everyone for the evening?”

She nodded, her look distant. “Yes. Everyone but Missandei. I need her tonight.”

He nodded as he walked off, signaling for the guards and servants to disperse. Missandei sat wide-eyed at the table, shocked that the queen wanted her to stay.

“Oh, and Ser Barristan?” he heard her call. He turned to see her facing the glass doors that led out onto a large balcony, where she was often found watching the city and observing the night sky.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

She was quiet for a moment before she said, “Make sure Prince Trystane does not come to my chambers tonight. I wish to be alone.”

It was hard to not outright grin at the order. He nodded. “Of course, Your Grace.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

It was growing late. The sun was nearly set by the time King’s Landing came into view. It saddened him slightly, but his heart soared at the sight of the Red Keep high on the cliffs.

_This is home now. If she will have me._

Drogon was weak and bad-tempered. He’d been grunting and groaning for hours now, and had snapped at Jon several times when he had tried to comfort him. He was extremely irritable, and Jon could only think it was because of the lack of sleep.

He had tried to get the dragon to stop and rest for three days, but he had only flown and flown, with only short breaks to let Jon stretch his legs, eat, or piss. He screeched venomously at Jon if he dallied overlong, and Jon had been forced to ride the dragon non-stop after experiencing his wrath a few times.

It was interesting standing on the back of a flying dragon and pissing into the wind.

He could only guess that the dragon sensed his mother like Jon had sensed Ghost, and that Drogon wanted to be back with his siblings. They had been gone for an unknown amount of time; Jon could only guess that it was a few moons.

The city was brightly lit and filled with celebrations when he flew high overhead. The streets were filled with people drinking and cheering. Buildings were draped in festive colors. Music could be heard pouring into the night air.

Air that was considerably warmer than it had been when he had left.

He had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t have much time to think on it as he arrived at the colossal old structure that was the Dragonpit. Drogon’s lurching decent into the massive edifice was not quite as easy as it had once been. For a moment he wondered if Drogon would grow too large for it, but yet again he was distracted at the shrieks of two other dragons.

Rhaegal and Viserion were not chained in their cells as they sometimes were, something that usually depended on their behavior. When Drogon more or less dropped the last several feet onto the black floor, the other two slithered up to him, screeching in high-pitched tones and nudging the larger dragon with their heads. Jon could only assume that it was affection they were showing Drogon.

He climbed down the dragon’s spine until he reached his hind legs, where he dismounted. He walked to Drogon’s head, where Viserion and Rhaegal were still making odd noises.

When he arrived at the front of Drogon, the pair of smaller dragons more or less head butted him back and forth a few times until he laughed and told them to stop. Thankfully they listened and went back to rubbing themselves against Drogon, who was breathing hard and making frustrated sounds.

It didn’t take long for the dragon trainers and handlers to come running into the open landing area. They were all trusted Unsullied soldiers, men who Jon knew by name. They were dumbfounded at the sight of him and Drogon, for their jaws were slack and their eyes wide. They began speaking rapidly in another language, and Jon was able to pick up some mangled, bastard Valyrian.

“Vile Dog, come here, quickly,” Jon said, waiting for the head handler to make his way over to Drogon. The dragon was slowly dragging himself into the largest of the cavernous rooms meant for containing the dragons, where he had a nest of old bones he liked to sleep upon. Jon frowned at how Drogon was acting and bade Vile Dog to follow as he trailed after his flying friend.

“Listen. Drogon is sick and...unpleasant right now. See if he will eat and leave him alone. I’m not sure what is wrong with him but he needs observed and possibly treated. If anything, _anything_ , happens, get me immediately. Do not tell the queen. She does not need to worry right now. Understand?”

He didn’t like being so firm to the Unsullied soldier but it was necessary he got his point across. If Drogon was sick or even dying, it could throw King's Landing into a battlefield for the throne if the right people knew the queen was down her best dragon. He couldn’t imagine Daenerys wanting to be awoken at this time of night to deal with that. Especially with him back. Undoubtedly she had a lot in store for him.

It would be better if she didn’t know.

Vile Dog nodded, and Jon smiled, patting his shoulder. “He’s been really picky about what he’s been eating. If he even eats at all. Try sheep or goat. Smaller animals. He hasn’t been happy with bigger game for quite some time.”

The Unsullied soldier nodded and waved for his brothers to follow him to retrieve food for the cantankerous beast. In a section below the main arena, there were small sheep, goats, and other various farm animals awaiting to be gifted alive as a treat.

Jon watched the three dragons make their way deeper into the Pit to the passageway that led to the more dilapidated lower levels, concern growing at Drogon’s less than enthusiastic movements. He was acting as if he was in so much pain.

He heard several noises behind him, and turned, expecting Vile Dog and his men. He had no time to react.

“Seize the prince!”

He was tackled to the ground. The black floor met his face painfully, and he grunted as his arms were ripped behind his back. He felt his sword belt being removed, and he struggled against the men pressing him into the ground.

“Wha—?”

“Prince Jon, you are hereby detained by order of Queen Daenerys. You will be—”

The ground shook. A loud, horrific screech filled the air. Everyone was instantly quiet as they looked up and up, and then saw a massive black shape hovering over them all, Drogon's wings spread threateningly as he stood on his hind legs. Men screamed and ran, but others held their ground, spears at the ready, shouting for the handlers and trainers to call off the dragon. But Vile Dog and his brothers had left and had not returned, and they were alone. Smoke was curling from Drogon’s mouth, and Jon felt a moment of dread.

_“Daor,_ Drogon!” he yelled, his voice muffled from struggling against the four men smashing his face into the ground. _“Daor, keligon!”_

Viserion and Rhaegal appeared next to their brother, and Jon knew if something did not happen right this instant, all of the men around him were going to be dead. The smaller dragons were vicious and trained nowhere near as well as their larger brother. Drogon had grown tremendously protective of him, and it was clear that Rhaegal and Viserion followed his lead.

“Let the prince go! The beast is trying to protect him!”

The four men instantly let him go. He jumped up and waved his arms at the three dragons, trying to show them that he was fine. Drogon’s huge mouth was parted, the red and orange glow in the back of his throat lighting the room much brighter than it had been just moments before.

Drogon’s jaws closed, but the room was filled with smoke and made it difficult to breathe. The men began coughing, and Jon yelled at the dragons to go deeper into the Pit. He could see by Drogon’s defensive stance that he was not pleased his master was leaving. Jon gestured at his friend, who finally decided he was not in danger.

Men surrounded him again as soon as Drogon lumbered out of sight. His back was prodded with a spear, and he felt the prick through his furs. He frowned as he walked out of the pit.

“Chain him. We take no risks. The queen will see him immediately,” a man said, an accented voice Jon was not familiar with.

He was bound in heavy chains a moment later, his arms forced behind his back once more. He grimaced at the cold metal on his skin, and began the humiliating walk towards the Red Keep, where it was apparent the queen was waiting, and pissed.

_Well, you knew she wasn’t going to be happy._

The crowds had died down since Jon had arrived. The only people out and about were whores, beggars, and drunks it seemed. The armed escort of twenty men walked in formation around him, preventing the people from seeing him, which he was thankful for.

Fear crept up his spine the closer they got to the holdfast. It was late, and Jon was doubly thankful that no one was about the halls but guards.

When they arrived at the throne room, the fires were out. A chill touched the air, and he could see his breath as he panted. He was shoved forward, and he nearly fell flat on his face before he awkwardly managed to right himself. As soon as he was standing straight he was driven downwards, onto his knees, and then his head was pushed down, forcing him to look at the marble floor. His filthy hair hung in strings about his face.

“Prince Jon, Your Grace,” someone announced, and Jon lifted his head to look at her.

He caught a glimpse of white before his head was shoved down again. He cursed as he struggled against the person, and only ended up having his cheek slammed into the marble in thanks. He gritted his teeth as the huge hand squeezed his skull and smashed his face further into the ground.

“Release him, Foul Waste.”

_Foul, indeed._

Jon shook the Unsullied soldier off him and went to stand, when he heard, “Do not presume to rise, Prince Jon. Stay on your knees until otherwise told.”

He raised his eyes. And stared. He felt his heart begin to pound at the sight of her. It felt like it had been forever since he had last seen her.

“Daenerys...”

She was a vision in all white. She was scowling fiercely, however. Somehow it did not mar her beauty. “I am your queen. You will address me as ‘Your Grace’.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His hands and wrists were chaffed from the chains binding him, but he did not feel it. The only thing he could feel was the need to hold her. To tell her how sorry he was. To ask her forgiveness. To tell her what had happened. Why he had left. To let her know he had seen her tears of sorrow.

He was silent as she stared at him. She seemed to be deliberating with herself. The only people on the dais were herself and Ser Barristan. He was surprised not to see Tyrion or Missandei. That was when he noticed her hair was damp and not in her usual style, but fully down. She must have been bathing when she had been informed of his arrival.

“Prince Jon, you have been brought before me under the charges of lying and betraying me, and then stealing the crown’s most prized possession, the dragon by the name of Drogon. You have caused unrest, riots, rape, and the deaths of men, women, and children because of your betrayal. Tell me why I should not have you killed right now.”

He knew his face was filled with disbelief. Horror. Uncertainty. She was not acting like the soft, caring Daenerys he knew behind closed doors. When they were alone. She was being a queen, in front of a few dozen men and soldiers.

“Please, Dae—Your Grace, let me talk to you in private. I have so much I need to—”

“Whatever you have to say will be heard here and now. I have a wedding in a few days and I wish to seek my bed. I do not have time to deal with whatever excuses you will undoubtedly tell me.”

Pain sliced through his chest. He felt his body slump in shock as he stared at her, not understanding for a long, agonizing moment, until it clicked in his head.

She had a wedding in a few days.

_That would explain the festive colors and banners throughout the city. King's Landing wouldn’t decorate for just any wedding. It was hers._

_Oh, gods. I'm too late._

Words could not come to his mouth. He felt a shudder run down the length of his body and he had to close his eyes against the sudden stinging he felt there.

_I lived for you. I left her grave for you._

He didn’t know how long he knelt there, struggling with the pain and emotion he felt. He had planned to see her without anyone present, where he could tell her everything. The truth of why he had left. To tell her that he knew he had hurt her, but he hadn’t meant to. He wanted her to understand why he had done what he had done. And he had prayed that she would sympathize. That she would forgive him.

She was staring at him, and he could almost feel the hatred.

Suddenly it all coalesced—years of hurt, death, and suffering—and he felt like he was dying inside. It felt so much worse than it had when he had been lying on Val’s grave.

 The urge to break down in front of her, in front of the men around him, was so profound that he nearly did. He had come back to tell her so much, and now she was refusing him. Marrying another man. Giving up on him, as so many others had in the past.

 “I'm sorry.”

The words were choked. The breath he drew in nearly defeated him and the fragile hold he had on his composure.

The room was silent as the words echoed around them. He could not look at her. If he did, he knew that the tears just hovering at the surface would fall.

_I saw you. In my bed. Crying. I comforted you. I was there. Protecting you. Holding you, keeping you warm. I heard everything you said. Why are you doing this? Do you really feel this way? Did I not understand what I saw?_

_How can you hate me so?_

“Send him to his chambers. I want him locked in there until after the wedding, when King Trystane and I will make the final decision on his fate.”

He barely acknowledged being lifted to his feet. He was limp in the hold of the two men bringing him to his chambers. His feet were dragging behind him for most of the trip, until he finally stood and walked, forcing his reactions to be in check. He drew in several deep breaths, trying to calm the raging storm of emotions he felt and the sickness in his belly.

_She’s livid. Betrayed. Upset. This isn’t her. It can’t be. Not the Daenerys that was in my bed just days before. I can’t be wrong about what I saw. I can fix this. I can. I just need to see her. I just need to talk to her. She will understand. She always has._

_Keep it together, Jon._

And then he saw him.

His friend was there, waiting for him. He was sitting, so perfect and majestic and wonderful, trying not to wag his tail but it was moving just the slightest bit. Jon was shoved into his chambers, where the guards slammed the doors behind him. He heard a click moments later, and knew that they had locked him in.

_As if that ever stopped me._

Ghost was still sitting when Jon ran to him. He wrapped his arms around his old friend and squeezed as hard as he could.

“I missed you, boy. More than you could know.”

Ghost was wiggling around, and Jon released him. His face was instantaneously bathed with his huge wet tongue. Laughing, he embraced his friend again, not wanting to let go. The direwolf had been the ultimate comfort for so many years; it almost felt as if everything was alright when he was near. It felt as if his mind cleared and his body calmed. He was able to breathe again.

He finally stood after an unknown amount of time just holding Ghost and giving him tons of affection. Immediately after standing, he noticed that his room was brightly lit and fires were burning in the two hearths in the large common area. His bedchamber door was closed, as was his study, but he had the feeling the fires were lit there as well.

_Was someone waiting for me? This makes no sense._

Food was sitting on the small table set in the corner by the large glass windows. Outside, he could no longer see snow built up on the balcony, as he had when he had left.

_Why would you feed me or care to light my fires when you hate me so?_

_Is this a game, Daenerys?_

Ghost nudged him and he found himself walking over to the table. On his way, he began divesting himself of the furs and leathers he was wearing. They smelled terrible and he knew he did as well. The thought of a bath nearly made his knees weak.

Naked and uncaring, he stood by his floor to ceiling windows and ate the small meal of cold meats and cheeses. The glass of wine was of a vintage he knew Tyrion would appreciate. Ghost stood next to him, leaning against him as if he needed to know he was there. His free hand rubbed his soft ears over and over again as he just stared out into the darkness, contemplating his current situation and future.

_This almost doesn’t feel real._

Ghost let out a subtle whine that made him look down at the wolf with shock. He was always so quiet, there had been very few times in their relationship he’d ever heard him make noise.

_I should sneak out and go see her, shouldn’t I boy?_

Ghost just stared at him with his ruby eyes.

It was some time later that his door opened. Two men came in with buckets of water, followed by a woman. If the blush on her face was any indication, she could tell he was naked, but could not get close enough of a look because Ghost was blocking his nudity.

They made two more trips before they left, and the door was locked again.

_If she is going to have me killed, why is she letting me bathe? Is this a form of torture, or is she really not going to have me punished for my crimes?_

_What are you playing at, Daenerys?_

He was exhausted. After scrubbing himself, sleepiness came over him. Full of good food and wine and soaking in hot water had him falling asleep quickly.

His dreams were restless. He saw Drogon, thrashing and burning the very air around him. His brothers screeched and blew fire until all he could see were flames. He saw Val, her pale blonde hair burning away in those flames, and then her body, until she was nothing but ash. Then, somehow, those ashes began to rise from the dirt to take a shape. In a matter of moments the ashes were a woman—not the same woman, but one similar in coloring...Daenerys.

The fires raged around her, but she did not burn. He had never witnessed her walk through fire as she’d seen him, and he watched with morbid fascination as she lifted her arms in the air, laughing madly, twirling around and around as her hair burned away.

Then she pointed at him.

“Fire cannot kill a dragon,” she said, smirking at him, gloriously naked. The sight of her high, round breasts and curved hips was distracting. “I cannot kill you with dragon fire, so I will have your head. Any last words, Jon Targaryen?”

His dream-self screamed, and then he was falling. He could see Drogon above him, screeching in the most desperate cry he’d ever heard from him. The dragon would not catch him in time.

_I'm going to die, and Dany doesn’t even know what I've gone through to come back to her._

His dream world went dark. Then he saw a shape growing larger in the distance. It was white and moving fast. It grew and grew until he recognized Ghost. But it was not just him. Somehow, for some reason, Daenerys was on his back, clinging to his fur, and Ghost ran as fast as the wind. As they flew by him, it seemed as if time slowed. He saw her face buried in Ghost’s bloodied fur, but just enough of her cheek was visible for him to see the wet trails of tears.

Then everything was red. Like the blood upon Ghost’s fur. It was such a startling crimson, it was hard to gaze look at it.

Abruptly, multiple shades of the color began twirling together into a long, curved shape. Eventually a woman, beautiful beyond words, stood before him. At first, he thought it was an older Ygritte, but then realized it couldn’t possibly be her, for Ygritte had not even been pretty.

She was naked. Her long red hair covered her large breasts, but her pale skin practically glowed. She was screaming, but he could not hear her. He ran towards her, but she kept slipping out of his grasp. He couldn’t understand the need to save this woman, and he felt unimaginable pain as she began melting away, until she was a pool of blood.

The dreams stopped then. He had no idea how long he was asleep, but he bolted upright suddenly. Ghost was sitting next to him, staring at him with his red eyes. The water was freezing, and he was shivering.

“Your Grace!”

He jerked in the direction of the voice. Vile Dog was standing in the doorway, his face, normally stern or placid, looked pale and worried through the olive tones. His chest was moving up and down rapidly, signaling that he had ran fast to get to him.

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked, feeling an unexpected sense of urgency at the head dragon handler’s appearance. His hands gripped the edges of the large marble bathing pool, ready to jump out.

“It’s Drogon, Your Grace. This one is not sure but, he is either in his death throes or something is wrong. These ones cannot get near him or the other two. They are wild and raging. These ones have locked them in the lower levels to keep the city safe, but—”

Jon leapt from the bathing pool and nearly slipped on the floor, but managed to make it into his sleeping chambers, where his clothes were still stored neatly. Yanking on his dragon training leathers, he was dressed quickly.

Vile Dog went to run to the doors, but Jon stopped and cursed. There was no way they were going to let him out. He wasn’t sure if Vile Dog knew of his situation, but he played it off that he didn’t and thought quickly.

“I will be right behind you. Keep everyone away from them.”

Vile Dog nodded and exited his chambers. The click was heard a second later.

His gaze turned to the windows he so loved and the balcony beyond them, and his face grew grim.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : So! We learn some more why Tyrion doesn’t like Trystane, the sadness Daenerys feels about marrying Trystane despite her outward appearance, and that she’s PISSED at Jon...but how pissed is she really? Do you think she would really behead her only living kin? Is she playing a game like Jon thinks she is? Perhaps she’s acting the scorned woman...

What about Jon’s dreams? Could they mean something?

How about Drogon? Is he dying?

Next chapter is the literal **BEST**. Tell me how much you want the next chapter ;)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Daor, Drogon!” he yelled, his voice muffled from struggling against the four men smashing his face into the ground. “Daor, keligon!”
> 
> Daor - No  
> Keligon - Stop
> 
> Daor, Keligon! - No, stop!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger falls like flames...  
> Forgiveness engulfs...  
> Become pure under the fire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song is highly recommended for this chapter: Lacuna Coil - I Burn In You.
> 
> Https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKDEcbMFs0Y&list=RDAKDEcbMFs0Y

**Author’s Note** : Hi everyone! So here, it is...this is the chapter that I love the most by far...I struggled with this chapter so much to make it as incredible as I felt it should be. I dreamt of what happened in this chapter, felt it in my heart. I can picture it in my head so easily when I hear this song, “I Burn in You by Lacuna Coil.” I **HIGHLY** recommend listening to this song for this chapter.

 

Heed archive warnings for this chapter.

 

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Chapter Ten

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Daenerys

His face had possibly been one of the saddest, most heartrending things she had ever seen.

It had taken everything within her not to run to him upon his entrance to the throne room. The Unsullied had been under instruction to not treat him as a prince but as a prisoner, and she could tell he was disturbed by his handling. He had taken it well, however. What he hadn’t taken well had been her words.

She had watched as each word had crushed him further and further. Any energy he had possessed had drained from him within moments.

The city watch had spotted Drogon flying far off in the distance and had informed her. She had wanted him brought to her immediately. Her anger had peaked that he dared to return at the most terrible...and most perfect time.

Watching him being dragged from the throne room had made her clutch at her chest. He had just wanted to talk to her. He had just wanted to say her name. Jon had struggled calling her ‘Your Grace’ because of their personal time spent together. She had only ever asked him to address her as such before she had known they were kin. When he had walked out of that fire, she had known. She had known that Melisandre had been right in her insane ravings, and suddenly she had been Daenerys, not ‘Your Grace.’

_“Please, Dae—Your Grace, let me talk to you in private. I have so much I need to—”_

Those words had been painful to hear. She knew he probably had amazing stories to tell her. Along with horrible tales, revelations, and hopefully explanations.

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Oh, Jon. Those words...they destroyed me._

When everyone had left the throne room but her and Ser Barristan, she had just wanted to turn to the old man and cry on him. He had been such a fatherly figure to her for years, a figure she had never really had until she had met him. Viserys had been a good brother initially, but after they had been forced to sell their mother’s crown, he had twisted into something ghastly. He had never been that person she had needed to talk to, to cry to.

“Do you have anything to say, Ser Barristan?” she had asked, standing from the throne. She had been unable to look at him, and instead, she had twiddled her fingers and gazed about the room. The window above the throne, which Jon had commissioned just for her, suddenly seemed very interesting.

“Your Grace, what type of advice do you seek? An old man’s advice, a man who would not see you hurt? Or advice meant for a queen?”

She wanted to be strong. She wanted to prove that no one could do as they wished, no matter who they were. Not even her nephew. Not even the man that had helped save Westeros.

But other parts of her wanted something else.

“Whatever you think would be best,” she had answered, putting him on the spot. She had turned to him then, and watched as he shifted, uncertain.

“Your Grace, you ask things that are difficult to answer. I imagine Lord Tyrion would have the perfect answer.”

Her voice had rang out in a laugh, echoing in the huge, cold room. “I can just imagine his advice, Ser. ‘Fuck what everyone thinks, Daenerys. Go to the boy.’ Do you agree?”

It was easy to rely on Ser Barristan. He was not full of politics and cared for her enough to see her happy. But he also knew that she was a queen and could not always get what she wanted.

“I think that no matter what you do, you should go to him. Perhaps it will make whatever decision you have to make easier.”

It was settled.

_I will go to you, Jon._

She knew he would be in for a surprise when he arrived to his chambers. She had been telling the servants to keep his rooms ready since he had left. It didn’t help that she sometimes found herself in his bed, so the servants made sure they were always prepared.

As soon as word had come of Drogon, she had sent for food and wine. And for any trace of her time spent there to be removed. Then she had dealt with a new, but very dear friend.

“Ghost. Wait for your daddy here. I can’t have you causing trouble,” she had said with a smile, pressing her forehead against the side of his snout. He had nuzzled her just the slightest bit, and then sat by the doors to Jon’s chambers, where she had closed the door with a soft click.

After having sent Jon away, she had let him have some space before she told the servants to bring him hot water. According to several of the Unsullied soldiers, he had smelled awful. She knew that in times of war and campaigning and traveling that bathing was not always possible, and hadn’t faulted him for stinking. However, she did not have to smell it herself when she went to him if she didn’t have to.

She was pacing her bedchamber now, her fingers twisted in her gossamer white dress as she tried to think of what to say to him. She was not normally indecisive. She felt that in most situations, it was easy for her to make a judgment. But this was different, somehow.

_I know what I want. Why can I not just admit it? Why am I doing this to myself? Am I that hurt? Selfish?_

A snore came from her bed. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Missandei taking up a great deal of her bed. She had thought of spending her last unmarried nights with her in passion, but had decided against it. Instead, they had held each other and nothing more. After Missandei had fallen asleep, Dany had lain awake, as she always did for days before with her previous weddings.  

That was when the messenger had arrived. Missandei was a deep sleeper and had not been disturbed. Her hair had still been wet when she had arrived in the throne room, waiting for her prince.

Even now, Missandei slept on. She paced and paced, her feet silent on the rich, thick rug under her. She didn’t know how long it had been since the servants had brought water.

_Is he done bathing? Is he asleep? Does he hate me? Does he understand why I am acting this way? Gods, I don’t even understand why I’m acting this way..._

_Why does it matter? Just go, you craven girl!_

It was late. The fat candles that lined the walls at night were dying down or snuffed out completely. Every so often a lantern would burn bright, but she did not need to see to get to his chambers, which although a fair distance, were right next to hers.

The two silent Unsullied guards left the entrance to her chambers and followed behind her. She stopped outside of Jon’s, which was much more heavily guarded. One nodded to her as she stood before the door, and went to unlock it.

The fires were mostly hot coals when she stepped into the dimly lit room. Frowning, she walked further into the spacious area and noticed that the filthy furs he had been wearing were tossed all over the marble floor, leading in a path to the table where a tray and goblet sat, empty.

She turned, and began walking towards the cracked bedchamber doors, biting her lip.

_I want an explanation. Tell me everything. Why did you leave? Why did you do this to me? To us? Do you even understand the damage you did? How can you think for one second that I—_

“Ghost?”

The direwolf slipped through the open doors and went straight to her, bumping into her. She ran her fingers through his fur for a brief moment before she continued walking to Jon’s chamber.

It was empty. Concerned, she stepped into the smaller side room that was meant for bathing. The large pool was filled with water, but Jon was not there. She touched her fingertips to the surface and the water was cold. The floor was covered in small puddles.

She went back into his room, noting the messy bed, and then went into the receiving room, and into the study. He was gone.

“How is this possible?”

He was gone. But the only way out was through the doors or the secret passage, which Jon had no knowledge of. Or...

Ghost was standing in front of the glass doors that led to the balcony. Heart pounding, she stepped through the doors and walked out into the cold night air.

She didn’t see it at first. But then she did, and she ran to the railing, fear making her vomit rise in her throat.

There was a long red velvet blanket tied to the railing, and then another was knotted to the end of that one. The blankets flapped lazily in the wind, and her eyes followed to where they ended, far above the ground.

She searched for his body. Her eyes strained to see through the darkness, but she saw nothing that looked like his prone, dead form. The courtyard below was empty.

“Where could he have gone? Why would he leave? Is he thinking of...”

Anger and disbelief struck her. He was running away again. Why else would he leave?

_Does he really think I would put him to death?_

_Stupid girl! This is your fault!_

_Is it too late to catch him?_

The guards were silent as she ran from the room. It was obvious Jon’s guards had no idea he had fled.

Several questions poured from her to the men as she darted through the royal wing, but the only thing she gathered was that the head dragon trainer had visited Jon, and left just as quickly as he arrived. It made her fear even more what his intentions were.

Her feet pounded against the marble as she flew down the stairs and through multiple rooms. She exited the holdfast and felt the cold slap her in the face, but cared not. More and more men joined her original guard as she ran as fast as her slippered feet would carry her, all the way out of the Red Keep and into the sleeping city.

_I can’t let you leave me again. I will find you. I will stop you. I will take what is mine with fire and blood. And you are mine, Jon Targaryen._

Her breath came fast and painful, the stitch in her side grew until she felt like she needed to run bent over. Her men, silent as ever, followed her without question. There had been no time to saddle a horse. Every moment counted.

_Please still be there. Old Gods, if you have ever heard me, hear me now. Let him still be there._

The Dragonpit was almost the size of the Red Keep. It loomed massive and dark. But even from the distance she was at, she could hear the screams of her dragons.

They were the worst sounds she had ever heard. Every part of her felt like they were being killed or tortured. She ran harder, faster, until it felt like her feet were bleeding from hitting the rocks and dirt of the old cobbled road. Her slippers were torn to shreds and useless. She stopped just long enough to fling them off and kept running, her feet slapping against the stones.

_Not my children. Please let them be safe. Unharmed. They are my babies..._

_Jon...please..._

She could barely breathe by the time she reached the Pit. Outside, Vile Dog and his men stood, looking distressed and scared. City watches and guards surrounded the Pit, looking unsure. Panic hit her, and she feared what would be said.

“Your Grace! Prince Jon is inside! He ordered these ones all out before these ones were killed. The dragons are wild, Your Grace! These ones could not control them! These ones are afraid that Prince Jon will be killed—”

“Put the city on high alert. I want no smallfolk to come near the Pit. Inform no one of what is happening. If the High Sparrow hears of this, he could start the riots all over again. Go, now!”

Men dispersed, and she walked to the barred doors. “Step aside,” she ordered, waiting for Vile Dog and his men to move. They did so hesitantly, and she pulled the door open.

“Whatever happens, do not come in. Jon and I will be fine, for they are our children. Anyone else, I don’t feel it is safe. One of us will retrieve you when it is.”

Vile Dog did not look happy. “Your Grace, allow this one to at least stay with you, protect you...”

She shook her head. “No. Whatever is happening is not normal. I do not want anyone killed. Stay here and wait for me.”

Her feet ached terrible. Her heart still pounded, and the pain in her side was still sharp. But as soon as she entered the Pit, all pain was forgotten.

The screeches were amplified in the structure. The heat was intense, and smoke hovered in the air. She could see shadows dancing along the walls from the intermittent torches, and she made her way quickly through the main area of the pit, where the dragons typically trained or landed. There were deeper levels in the Pit that had tunnels that led to them, and from there, she could hear the shrieks and hoarse cries growing louder.

Before she even made it into the lower levels, she saw how bright it was through the crack in the enormous doors. She could hear the telltale sounds of the dragons breathing fire, and never in her wildest dreams, could she have pictured what she saw when she came into the cavernous chamber.

_By the Old Gods and the New...by every god that has ever existed..._

Fire was everywhere. Everything was burning that could burn. Viserion and Rhaegal were pouring flames from their throats in a near constant stream, only pausing to scream and screech into the air.

Drogon had grown in the short time he had been gone. Even more monstrous than before, his incredibly huge body was trembling and laying prone on the ground, in an awkward position. His tail was thrashing back and forth, slamming into the huge pillars that held up the upper levels. Fire leaked from his mouth rather than blew, and danced lightly along the charred floor before disappearing.

Then she saw him.

Jon was at Drogon’s side, half of his clothes burned away. He was touching the dragon, talking to him, but she could not hear the words being said with all of the noise. She could only see his mouth moving.

Drogon started moving laboriously, and Jon was patting him, as if encouraging him. He was stroking his scales and the massive bumpy ridges on his side, and continuously moved up and down his long body, from his head to his tail.

Jon didn’t seem to notice the reason why Drogon was moving. It wasn’t until he was heading straight towards her that Jon caught her standing at the huge steel doors.

One whole side of his head was missing hair. He stared at her, clearly unsure of what to do, but still trying to comfort Drogon. The dragon was pulling himself towards her weakly, until she could feel his breath upon her face and see into his liquid magma eyes.

“My child...” she said, reaching for him. The fire sluggishly pouring from his mouth had her white dress singed instantly. She stroked his nose, then down the side of his head, until she was gazing directly into one of his eyes. The slitted pupil was shifting in and out of focus, and she felt scared at what was happening.

“It’s alright. Shh...relax, Drogon. Calm down. It’s alright. I’m here. Your mother’s here. Everything is alright.”

She could hear his words now. He was near her, and she didn’t know how to feel. She didn’t know if she should be mad, or happy, or upset. Something was wrong with Drogon. His brothers were flying around the room, fire pouring from their mouths unceasingly.

She watched Jon stroke Drogon over and over again. The dragon’s belly bulged, and she saw that Jon was concentrating in that area. Angry, terrified that her dragon was dying, and breathless at the sight of Jon caring so much for her child and the sight of his chiseled half-naked body, her heart thudded deeply. She didn’t know how to feel, she was so confused.

Anger was decided upon, as it was the emotion hovering the closest to the surface.

“What are you doing here, Jon? Why did you escape your chambers? Are you planning on stealing Drogon again?”

He didn’t look at her and his face was guarded. His hands just stayed on Drogon, trying to comfort him and the obvious pain he was in.

“Vile Dog fetched me on my orders. I told him to get me if anything unusual happened with Drogon. I knew the guards wouldn’t let me out, so I tied my bedspreads onto the railing on the balcony and climbed down. Then I escaped through a postern door. Getting here was relatively easy.”

Her lips thinned and her anger eclipsed into rage. Hurt simmered violently below the surface. She placed her palms against Drogon’s side and heard him groan and hiss. Fire licked at her heels. The sounds the dragon was making reminded her so much of the pain he had suffered saving her from the fighting pit in Meereen. His wounds had taken so long to heal.

“Tell me. Tell me why you left. Why you abandoned me. Tell me now, Jon!” she yelled, noticing that he still refused to look at her.

He was quiet for several long moments. The cries of the dragons flying overhead felt almost distant.

“I can’t explain everything. You wouldn’t understand.”

She seethed. “What wouldn’t I understand?” she yelled, stepping towards him. She wanted to strike him. Never in her life had she ever felt the urge to just hit someone over and over again, but now she did. She wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her.

His face twisted when he turned to her and she saw his own anger. The defeated look he’d had in the throne room was long gone. The fire around them was reflected in his dark eyes. “Everything. And nothing. You wouldn’t understand half of the shit I’ve gone through! You may have things in common with me, but you could never understand what it’s like to kill the person you love. I killed her! Do you understand that, Daenerys? Or should I say _Your Grace?”_

She gasped before she felt her throat nearly close. A choked sound escaped her, and her hand went to her neck. Stepping back, away from him, away from his rage, from his anguish, she fought the tears that suddenly sprang to her eyes. It lasted only a few seconds before they defeated her.

They fell down her flushed cheeks and were dried moments later from the heat. But still they came and went. The pain of the past came rushing back to her, and she pictured the sight of her _Khal_ , laying nearly lifeless in her arms, staring at nothing. The tears that had flooded his bronzed skin before she had pressed the pillow onto his face. The twitching of his body as she had suffocated him.

She remembered the feeling of her breasts full of milk, ready to feed the child that had died. The emptiness of her body. The hollowness of her soul as she burned everything...and gained everything in return.

“I killed him,” she said quietly. Jon’s snarling face changed, almost to shock. Her lips trembled. “My _Khal._ _Shekh ma shieraki anni._ My Sun and Stars. The man who inadvertently gave me everything. I loved him. I will always love him. But I killed him. He is dead, all because of me. And my son. My Rhaego. _Vezh fin saja rhaesheseres._  The stallion that mounts the world.My baby. I killed my family.”

Her heart hurt. Her soul ached. She clutched at her chest, drawing in an excruciating breath. The hot air seared her tongue. Her anger was gone, replaced with sadness. “Don’t you see? I do understand. I understand all too well, Jon.”

He was watching her. Whether he was stunned at her words or not she was unsure. His dark grey eyes tore into hers, and suddenly everything felt right. And wrong. Oh so wrong.

She was in his arms in the next instant. Tears streamed from her eyes and evaporated as she gasped from the sheer amount of emotion swamping her. She had never broken down in front of anyone—had always hid it in the privacy of her chambers or tent, wherever she was that she needed to feel the release of pain and bitter emotion. The last week or so had been some of the worst emotional ups and downs she had ever experienced, and now he was here. He was here, and he was holding her, squeezing her, kissing her hair, whispering in her ear how he had missed her.

“Jon...I'm sorry. I am so sorry. The things I said...I was mad. I prayed. I prayed for the first time in my life, to your gods. I wanted you back. But I was so afraid. And angry. I don’t know what I'm saying. Please just hold me,” she said, nearly choking on her own words. She buried her face in his chest, clutching at him as he held her tightly, stroking her smoldering hair. All around her the fires still burned and smoke filled the air, along with the cries of her children. Their children.

“I’m sorry, too. Forgive me, Daenerys. I never meant to hurt you. Hurt us.”

They held onto each other tightly for only a brief time before Drogon shifted and bumped into them. She nearly fell, but Jon caught her as the dragon made odd grunting noises and his tail smashed into the floor, making the ground tremble below her feet. Jon let go of her to move back to Drogon, where he ran his hands down his body once more.

“Shh...it’s ok, girl. Just let it happen. Don’t fight it.”

Daenerys felt faint without warning. Her knees wobbled and she felt the floor shortly thereafter. She caught herself on her hands and knees, and she stared at Jon, who was looking at her, sprawled on the blackened rock.

“G-girl?”

He nodded, smiling in that way of his, coming over to her to help her stand. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before he walked her over to Drogon’s side, where the dragon’s belly was largely extended. He...she looked swollen, as if she had eaten the biggest meal ever.

He placed her small hands on the taut surface and made her press extremely hard, until it actually hurt her bones. She gasped with pain and disbelief, and then felt utter joy explode within her.

She could feel them.

“I think Drogon is in labor. I feel so stupid to just realize what was going on...for moons she showed signs. Constantly irritated for no reason. Picky with food. Not wanting to eat and then eating an extreme amount. A growing belly. Not wanting to fly. Struggling to fly when she did. Tons of other small things that should have made me think. The desperation to be home the last few days. She flew nonstop, as hard as she could. She wanted to nest.” He shook his head at himself as she stared at him with wonder. “I thought Drogon was sick. I had no idea. It didn’t click until I arrived down here, after Vile Dog told me he thought Drogon was dying. I saw him...her, in this squatting position, and for some reason I just thought of all the animals I’ve ever seen give birth, and Lady Catelyn with child over the years...and it clicked in my head.”

He shook his head again and then looked at her. Rhaegal flew overhead with a whoosh of hot air and flames poured over them. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the scorching heat fill her body. She smelled her hair burning and felt her dress vanishing. When she opened her eyes, Jon was staring at her, his hair nearly gone, his leather doublet and breeches smoking and burning at the edges. They were hanging on by a thread. One or two more passes by her dragons and he would be naked and hairless.

He looked so intense. So beautiful. Her lips parted, and she wetted them with her tongue. He drew in a sharp breath, and then with no hesitation, his mouth found hers. His warm hands cupped her face, and she nearly melted into him. His touch, his body, his everything. She missed him so.

The dragons screamed overhead as Drogon labored beside them. Fire caressed her, made her pure as it melted everything away, until all she felt was his skin against hers. His lips, his tongue, his hands were upon her, making her feel alive and on fire, just like the air.

The sounds around her faded away. When she opened her eyes, all she could see were flames and sparks dancing around him.

“Make me yours, Jon,” she said, and watched his eyes darken to nearly black. He picked her up in his arms and carried her away from Drogon and his thrashing body.

The ground was hard and hot. When his body covered hers, every part of her skin sang. She moaned as his mouth found her neck, and then traced a path down her aching body.

She knew exactly where he was going and stopped him. When she looked at him, she could see the last of his hair burn away and the orange glow of the fire reflected in his eyes.

“No, not this time. I need you now. I can’t wait any longer. I've waited so long for you,” she whispered hoarsely, guiding him back up her pale, lithe form. His gaze was deep, passionate, and she moaned loudly in his mouth as he found her lips once more, kissing her slow and deep. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her body quivering in need.

She threw back her head and cried out as he filled her. He gasped in her ear, and she felt his body shudder against hers. “Oh gods,” he said, and she could feel the strain in the muscles of his back. He was tense, breathing hard, but kissing any part of her that he could reach. She clutched at him, unable to control her reaction as she ground her hips against him, trying to get him to do something other than just stay still. He groaned and began moving slowly, and she whimpered, moving with him, her body already so close to bursting. It seemed like she had waited forever for this very moment, and now it was here.

When she opened her eyes, it was to see him watching her. She gasped at the sight of his eyes glowing, reflecting the fire as it danced around them. His paced quickened, and her nails dug into his skin. The shrieks of the dragons reached her ears again, and in that exact moment, she felt her body shatter.

Her scream echoed in the towering room and her dragons answered. She heard him exclaim something and then cry out, and she watched his face as he exploded. Heat and fire filled her and surrounded her, and in that moment, she never felt more alive.

 

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 **Author’s Note** : Words cannot be used to describe how this chapter makes me feel as an author. Please let me know what you think...

Also, I started a tumblr for my readers to follow! I will be posting pictures, thoughts, ideas, etc., of this story! Please follow me at http://gohansonna2.tumblr.com/. I can’t wait to talk to you guys!

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are not always what they seem...  
> Sometimes you just have to fly away from it all...

 

 **Author's** **Note** : Greetings, readers! I hope you are all enjoying the read so far. I had hoped to get a better response last chapter, seeing as how I had over 1k hits for that chapter alone, but only got about 30 or so comments. Please take the time to review if you are reading. It helps authors improve and it makes their writing experience all the more enjoyable to know that the people who are reading are also enjoying it!

 

 **Also, please follow me on Tumblr!** I post Game of Thrones pictures/thoughts/and stuff from my story! You will get a heads up prior to the chapter being posted as well, with a little chapter snippet :) 

 

http://gohansonna2.tumblr.com/

 

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Chapter Eleven

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The Lost Queen

_We have to be lost._

She had no idea where they were. They were filthy and cold and hungry. It had been days since they had left the tiny village near the Bay of Crabs and then followed the pathetic dirt road to another. They had stolen what they could to survive, but it had been little, as the town was struggling and the people were starving.

_Winter is dying, and yet people still are as well. It matters not who is on the throne._

Pain had become her friend. Her feet were blistered and raw. They itched unbearably. Rubbing her toes together inside her boots just made it worse, but she couldn’t help it. They hadn’t had the chance for stopping, let alone bathing or taking care of wounds.

“Do you need to rest, love?”

Her gloved fingers were holding Morella’s limply. The red-headed girl was stronger than she was and had pushed her to keep going when she just wanted to stop. She had already been so weak before their journey had begun, whereas Morella had been strong, fit, and healthy. There had been too many times that the girl had nearly carried her through the thawing ice and snow to keep her going. Their trials hadn’t been nice to Morella either, but she was far better off.

“No,” she said hoarsely. Her muscles were cramping terribly from dehydration. The snows were nearly melted and were filled with dirt and debris. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, and her parched tongue darted out, trying to wet them to relieve the pain. It just made them burn.

“Take the rest of my water. If you do not drink, you will not last much longer. Duskendale has to be near. The roads are more worn here. We will find water soon, Sansa.”

She didn’t want to take the last of Morella’s water, but she couldn’t bear it any longer. She poured it into her mouth, savoring every drop. It tasted incredible.

She gasped from drinking so fast. There was very little left in the bag when she handed it back to her friend guiltily. “Thank you,” she said, taking her hand once more and squeezing it.

She felt better after a few hours of walking and could tell the water had done her good. They were walking alongside the road through the trees, afraid to take it directly for fear of anyone finding them. Carts, armored men, and villagers passed by every few hours, and they always hid at any noise. They had somehow gone undiscovered, and didn’t want to take the chance of being caught.

The good news was that they had not seen any Vale men. Whenever Petyr’s body was inevitably discovered, she was sure that she would be wanted for murder. They were probably searching for her in the North, where they would think she would go.

_I have no one there. I have no home. All I have left is in King's Landing._

It was nightfall when they decided to stop near a rocky overhang. It shielded decently from the wind, but they could not risk a fire.

The little bit of dried meat they had left was eaten. It was only two or three bites worth, but it was better than nothing. They shared the last bit of water, and looked at each other, knowing that if they didn’t find Duskendale soon, they could die.

They slept in each other’s arms. Despite the constant fear of fleeing and the pain of traveling, Morella was a great comfort. She was smaller than Sansa, so she laid her head upon her breast as she did every night, breathing deeply. Sansa fell asleep with a smile on her face, holding her close.

It was still dark when they awoke. They tried to only sleep for a few hours before they were traveling again. They did not like to stay in one place too long, and it was safer to travel when it was night and it was harder to be seen.

They were not walking for more than an hour when they saw dim lights ahead. They both nearly cried out with joy as they saw the town in the distance.

Pain was forgotten as they ran. In a short time they could have water and food and possibly even a warm bed. Sansa even thought longingly of a bath.

The sun was well above the horizon when they arrived. Their run had not lasted long, and they had both laughed after they stopped, breathing hard and regretting their decision. But it did not dull their happiness.

“Shall we stay at the Seven Swords? Or a smaller inn?” Morella asked, and Sansa looked at her, shocked.

“You know Duskendale?”

Morella smiled and nodded. “I’m from a small village nearby, actually. My family visited the port town quite a few times as I grew up. We were never able to afford a place like the Seven Swords, but I figured, since...well, since you have Petyr’s money...”

Sansa worried her lower lip as she thought. Morella had never been exposed to many luxuries because of her birth. What she had experienced had been through seeing lords and ladies in the Vale and cleaning up after them. She had told Sansa of the small, cramped room she had shared with three other serving girls, and the common bathing area she was forced to use, even with the men. Their food was usually the leftovers from the dinners in the great hall, where Petyr ate with his cronies. Sansa was always left in her room, alone.

“I’m not sure it would be a good idea,” she said. “I guess we will have to see how many people are around. Someone might recognize me...”

Morella waved her hand in the air. “Shush. Do you even know how much you’ve changed since you were originally missing? It’s been years. You look completely different. Your only identifiable feature is your hair, and even I have red hair. It is uncommon, but not so much that someone will immediately see you and go, ‘Gasp! It ‘tis Lady Sansa Stark Lannister Arryn Hardyng Baelish!’ Do you see how silly that is?”

Sansa laughed, but it sounded forced. Morella using all of her last names brought back terrible memories.

The town was not anywhere near as busy as she thought it might be. It was still winter though, so she thought perhaps that was the reason. They walked down the cobbled streets with their hoods up, and searched until they saw the Seven Swords.

Sansa peeked through an old dirty window, wanting to see how many people were within. Trestle tables were placed at regular intervals, and a large fire was burning along the western wall. Three men sat at the tables, and Sansa noticed one of them was asleep in a corner, possibly drunk by the look of his slumped posture.

She looked at Morella’s hopeful yet grimy face. Her gloved hands were clasped together and she was hopping up and down just the slightest bit.

“Alright, fine. It doesn’t look busy. But we can’t stay long. Only long enough to eat, sleep for a bit, and maybe bathe—”

“Yes! Oh thank you, Sansa! I have never been so excited! Let’s go!”

She hushed her friend and told her to calm down, but her smile was contagious. They entered the warm room and both drew in deep breaths at the smell of food.

A man was standing behind a counter, wiping down a greasy wooden trencher. “How can I help ye?” he asked, barely looking at them. Sansa swallowed and purposefully deepened her voice, trying to sound like a man, but failed miserably. The middle-aged man’s eyebrow shot up as he tried to get a look under her hood.

“I wish to purchase a room for a few hours. Two meals, and a bath, if possible.” She cleared her throat. “Please,” she said, remembering her courtesies.

The man leaned forward, interested now. “One room, aye? That’n some food? Perhaps ol’ Meggy in the back can warm up some water for ye.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “Do ye have a form of payment?”

Sansa did not miss the glint in the man’s eyes. Skin crawling, she dug into her fur cloak and passed the grey-haired man a golden coin. He smirked and nodded. “This’ll be more’n enough. I’ll have ol’ Meg bring ye to yer room. MEGGY!”

Both girls jumped at his horrendously loud shout. An old woman, bent and a head full of grizzled white hair, came scurrying from a back room. She cackled at the sight of their two feminine figures and had a few words with the man Sansa had given a Golden Dragon to.

She cackled again and motioned for the girls to follow. Walking up a set of creaking wooden stairs, Sansa and Morella followed the hunched crone into a rather spacious room. There was an ancient, large straw bed against the wall on a roughly hewn wooden frame, a table with two chairs, a small wooden tub in a corner, and a fireplace with some nearly dead coals. Someone had recently vacated the room.

“I’ll gitchin’s some water fer washin’ up. Food’ll be up shortly. Would’n ye be needin’ anythin’ else?”

Sansa shook her head and the woman left, cackling some more. Morella was already tending to the fire, stirring the coals and adding some small pieces of wood. Soon the room was much warmer, and Sansa felt herself relaxing.

The crone carried bucket after bucket up the stairs and filled the small tub up. It felt like it was forever, and Sansa felt terrible the woman had to do it on her own. She thanked her profusely, and then waited for food to be brought before they bathed.

Two trenchers were brought to their room by the man and Meggy. They were leered at before the door finally closed, and Sansa went to the door and barred it, sighing with relief.

Morella was stuffing food into her face as fast as she could. Sansa laughed and joined her.

They drank the watered down ale and sat back, replete. Sansa was half-asleep when Morella shook her shoulder. “You should take a bath. We don’t want the water to get cold.”

Any water at this point sounded wonderful, but she shook her head and squeezed the younger girl’s fingers. “You go first. I will go second.”

Morella’s blue eyes went wide. Her fair skin flushed with pleasure. Sansa knew why. More than likely the girl had never gotten to go first when it was time to bathe. She had probably shared water her whole life, after the people older or more important than her went first.

Sansa had never shared water with another person before, but she felt that after everything the girl had done for her, it was the least she could do.

“Enjoy it. I am going to lay down. Take your time.”

Morella’s face was plain, but it looked almost pretty with her happiness. She was hugged before the former servant danced away.

Sansa removed the outer layers of her clothes until she was in the thigh high shift and smallclothes she had worn under her dress since they had left the Vale. If they’d had the time, she would have loved to wash her clothes, but there wasn’t. Not until they got to King's Landing. Despite the filth of her gown, she knew she could deal with it if she reached her goal in the end.

She fell asleep with thoughts of Jon drifting through her mind.

She wasn’t sure what woke her. She hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep. It seemed like she had been thinking about Jon, random things, and then nothing. She blinked her bleary eyes and yawned, stretching. Her body felt sore but rested.

“You look a little worse for the wear, my dearest.”

Sansa screamed at the man standing before her.

_Petyr._

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

The Mother of Dragons was living up to her name. She was curled up against Drogon, who was finally resting. In her blackened arms, pressed against her breasts and stomach, laid six vibrantly colored eggs.

He had never seen or felt anything so primal. The flames raging around them...watching her dress and hair dance through the inferno and winds that were whipping around them from the dragons and their screams...and then he had stared with wide eyes as everything melted away from her into nothingness. Her lilac orbs reflected fire, almost as if they burned with a life of their own. The dragons had roared and protected their sister as she labored, and as he and Daenerys had consummated their relationship.

Afterward Daenerys had been desperate to be with Drogon. Naked, hairless, and incredibly exquisite, he had watched her care for her child. Together they had helped Drogon bring forth a clutch of six eggs. They had taken turns catching the eggs as they emerged from Drogon’s birth canal, and the wonder he had seen in Dany’s eyes had made his heart pound.

He knew some history on dragons, and what he knew was only from what Tyrion and Daenerys had passed on to him. Most knowledge had been lost to time and deliberate destruction. The library in Maegor’s Holdfast held nothing but one book that had been hidden behind several old tomes. The only information the leather-bound book had contained had been a family tree of dragons and their riders. From what they had gleaned, the most eggs ever lain by a dragon in Westeros had been five.

Daenerys’s face had been glowing as she sat nude, covered in dirt and soot, surrounded by the multi-colored eggs. Drogon had been curled around her, guarding both her mother and the eggs. Beyond them, Rhaegal and Viserion had rested, finally calm, but watchful.

Jon and Dany had examined all of the eggs and she had told him about the ones that had contained her original three dragons. The eggs she held now were of a similar size and weight, perhaps bigger and a bit heavier. She caressed them reverently, letting him hold each one of them as she spoke to him with awe in her voice. It took both of his hands to hold one, and the weight was surprising.

She was sleeping now, her bare head resting on the floor. She held all six against her supple body, as if protecting them. As each egg had been birthed, they had talked of names, of Valyrian gods and magic, and of ancestors he knew little of.

Out of the six, all had been different colors.

The first was black and silver, with flecks of white.

The second was deep green with whorls of black.

The third was orange and red, with swirls of black.

The fourth was nearly all white, but with tiny bits of grey.

The fifth was red with creamy yellow speckles.

The sixth was pure gold, with veins of red.

They all seemed to change color in different light. They shimmered and shined, nearly metallic. They were heavy like large stones, and felt like ridged scales. To Daenerys, they were precious beyond words. Her eyes positively glowed as she looked at all of them.

She spoke of his heirs being given an egg upon their birth. He had felt a burgeoning warmth grow inside his chest as she spoke of his future children, and smiled at her and her unknowing words. Without thought, she had said that she would not marry the younger Dornish prince he had met, when they had flown to Dorne for his fealty.

He had kept watch over her, the eggs, and Drogon until he could hear the sounds of the city even below ground. He knew it was time for them to emerge into the world, a world with endless possibilities now that more dragon eggs had been birthed.

In one of the rooms where extra supplies were kept, he retrieved two pairs of leather breeches and tunics. There were linen undershirts, and he grabbed those as well to preserve Daenerys’s modesty. Not for her sake, for she didn’t seem to possess modesty, but for the sake of the men and people of the city.

He shook her awake gently. Her eyes were slightly red and he felt sorry that he had to wake her, but knew they could wait no longer. She yawned and rubbed her eyes with her fists like a child, and he couldn’t help but smile and press a kiss to the side of her mouth.

“Mmm,” she murmured, leaning against him. She nestled against his side, her bare head resting against his shoulder. She touched the linen shirt he was wearing, and then the black leather vest. She pulled back, blinking lazily, and then smiled sleepily.

“How hideous do I look?” was the first thing she said.

He chuckled as his fingers trailed over the smooth skin of her head, and then where her eyebrows had once been. “What if I told you that you look about as hideous as I assuredly do?”

Her smile grew larger, until she laughed. “Then I would say that you do not look hideous, Prince Jon, for you look more handsome and magnificent than any man I have ever laid eyes on. So that must mean I am lovelier than ever.”

His smile turned into a smirk as his fingers found their way other places. She closed her eyes as his hand cupped her between her legs. “I see you have hair nowhere, my queen.”

Her eyes opened and were a different, darker color than usual—deep amethyst. “Neither do you, my prince,” she replied, naughtiness written all over her face as her hand returned the favor, but over his breeches.

He couldn’t help but kiss her. They were filthy, covered head to toe in black streaks, smelled like smoke, and completely bald, but it didn’t matter.

When she pulled away, she was breathless. “Let’s leave, Jon.”

He caressed her cheek. “I brought you clothes, although I don’t know how well they fit.”

“No. Not leave back to the Keep. But here. The city. Let’s leave. Let’s fly away.”

She was being impulsive, but her words held appeal.

“Daenerys...I’m not sure...”

“The city will not fall apart. My army is on high alert and patrolling the streets because of what happened last night. With their presence, and Trystane in the Holdfast, everything will be fine. The High Sparrow loves Trystane. Please, come with me. We won’t be gone long. A matter of days.”

She began pulling on the clothes he had brought. They hung on her, but worked well enough.

He tried to think of everything that could go wrong. In his mind, everything _did_ go wrong. But she was looking at him in such a way that it made him not want to care. This was their chance to be free, to not be under the watchful eyes of the court and its intrigue and judgement. They could be themselves...together, alone...uninhibited by others.

When she held out her hand, he looked at it, and then at her face. Suddenly, taking her hand meant way more than ‘come with me’. It meant much, much more than that.

Her hand felt warm in his when he took it. Then they both smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

Vile Dog had kept his word. He had waited outside all night and well into the morning as she discovered whenever she cracked the door. He immediately jumped to his feet and bowed to her, and she whispered to him quickly.

His eyes were huge by the time she was done speaking to him in hushed tones.

“Tell no one but the handlers and trainers. No one, Vile Dog. Promise me.”

“Vile Dog will tell not a soul, Your Grace. This one will guard the Pit with his life, as will his brothers.”

Satisfied, she met Jon and Viserion in the huge room that the dragons normally trained in. Viserion was irritated to have been asked to leave his brooding sister, and had snapped at both her and Jon multiple times. She hissed at him in High Valyrian, her tone filled with annoyance at his behavior. She knew his training was nowhere near as good as Drogon’s, but it was obvious the she-dragon was not flying anywhere for some time.

_I am the Grandmother of Dragons._

They had laughed when she had said that shortly after Drogon delivered her first egg. She had held the lovely, slimy thing in her hands, clutching it against her breasts, feeling the heat in her hands. A heat that she knew only Targaryens would be able to feel. It had pleased her inordinately that Jon had felt it as well. She had also seen that wild look in his eyes, the look she knew she shared. His Valyrian blood, dormant until his rebirth, was burning through his veins, and he could feel the magic in the egg that he held.

Jon had stayed by her side all night as Drogon brought forth life. Together they had caught the heavy objects falling from her body, carefully positioning themselves away from her flailing tail. It had taken much longer than she thought it would for Drogon to deliver the eggs, but the entire labor and delivery was extraordinary. She had it engraved in her mind, for it to be recorded in a book. For Jon’s future children to know what would happen, and what to do. She had so much she needed to have recorded, but for now, she kept it tucked away in the back of her mind.

As Drogon had delivered her eggs one by one, Dany had brought them to her, where she could see them. She had nudged them all with her black nose and cleaned them with her long tongue, and Dany had felt tenderness flow through her as she watched the mother dragon brood her eggs.

She had no idea how long Drogon would have the need to protect her clutch. She had explained to Jon how eggs had been gifted to Targaryen children until they could be hatched (if they ever were), and then it was always done in such a way that the child and the newly hatched dragon imprinted upon each other. Jon had discussed with her how that had not occurred with him and Drogon, but the dragon seemed to absolutely adore him. Dany had thought on it, and could only think that it was because Drogon was much smarter than her brothers and that Jon was special. The look on his face had been odd, but she had not thought much on it. All three of her dragons at least tolerated him, which was more than she could hope for. There were only two other people that the dragons would even let ride them, and it had been after an extreme amount of coaxing. Tyrion and Ser Barristan had ridden both of the smaller dragons and it had nearly cost both of their lives, and much of their hair. It was something that Dany did not care to repeat if she could help it. The only people that would be riding the dragons from then on would be family.

They had also discussed between the delivering of eggs how Drogon had conceived. Neither the trainers nor handlers had reported any mating type activity. They’d had a laugh picturing one of the smaller dragons mounting the much larger Drogon.

She smiled softly as Jon finished strapping a saddle on Viserion’s back. He was hissing and raising the spines all over his body, but Jon just ignored him. Dany nearly laughed as she thought of Viserion as “him”. At this point who knew what sex any of her dragons were. She had always just called them male, but that was now wrong.

She had tried to figure out which one of the two smaller dragons had impregnated Drogon. Neither of them acted partial to Drogon, they were just equally protective. She was not scientifically inclined, and neither was Jon, but it brought so many ideas to mind.

Was it possible dragons could self-impregnate? Could they somehow reproduce with themselves? Was it possible for them to switch sexes? Were they both? There was so little known to her, and it was frustrating and fascinating all the same.

She needed to remind herself to contact Oldtown and have a maester knowledgeable in dragons, magic, and Valyria brought to King's Landing.

She had talked to Drogon in a soothing voice and touched all of the eggs before she had left. The dragon had been curled protectively around the eggs, which were gathered near her belly. Rhaegal had been hovering nearby, his temper calmed now that Drogon was no longer in pain.

Jon mounted Viserion and offered her his hand. Never having ridden pillion before, she felt nervous as she wrapped her arms around Jon’s midsection. She had initially trained Jon how to fly, and had always been the one in control.

“ _Sōvēs!_ ”

His High Valyrian was beautiful with his deep tones. He had taken to it easily enough, surprisingly for someone who knew no language other than the Westerosi tongue. He could not speak it fluently, but he understood most of what she said when she spoke it. He had learned commands with the dragons exceptionally fast, and knew short sayings and could speak some of the more common phrases. Much of the traveling they had done through Westeros had been spent teaching him the language, amongst other things. She hoped that one day he would be able to talk to her fluently in the ancient language. It was one of the few things she had enjoyed with her brother.

His handling of Viserion stunned her. He had only ever flown the dragon once, and it had been after Drogon had been injured during the war with the Others. He had struggled and had nearly fallen several times, and she had told him that he would ride no other dragon but Drogon, for fear of his life.

Viserion was a little shit when it came to taking commands. She openly admitted it and hated that she had failed so miserably at training him while he was still very young. But as they lifted off into the air and through the broken ceiling of the Dragonpit, she could feel the strength in Jon’s body and the control he exerted through his legs and hands, despite how thin he currently was. The dragons all had special reins used to help control them, and she felt Jon bring Viserion to a hover above the Pit.

“Where to?” he called back at her, and she squeezed him and pointed west.

“That way.”

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

Jon coaxed a speed out of Viserion that she had never experienced before. Drogon, despite her size, was fast, but Daenerys had never felt a dragon fly so swift in the few years she had been flying.

The lands below blew by swiftly. The air still held a chill, but Jon’s body heat kept her warm enough. Her eyes were watering constantly from how fast the wind raged by, but noticed that it did not seem to affect Jon nearly as much as her.

_He handles Viserion as if he has flown him for years. The dragon is behaving remarkably well. He isn’t even using the reins any longer._

Jon had dozed against her for a few hours and she had held him, his head resting back on her shoulder. He had been exhausted from keeping watch over the dragons and her all night. She had not asked him to do so, but it gave her an odd fluttering sensation in her belly as she thought of him guarding his family from harm, and had willingly held him in his slumber.

Jon was touching the small ridges next to the saddle, patting Viserion and thanking him for being good. She noted the constant touching he did with the beast. She wasn’t sure if it contributed to his behavior, but the dragon wasn’t complaining or being his typical disobedient self.

“You seem to have a way with my dragons, Jon,” she said, slightly jealous as she leaned her head against the spot between his shoulders, trying to shield her eyes from the wind. He had started shivering about an hour before, and she knew he was getting cold. They would need to land soon.

“I wouldn’t say I have a way with them, exactly. I think my time with Drogon has taught me a lot. Drogon might be a dragon, but she is very smart. I learned her personality and things she liked. She was the only thing I had to talk to for moons. Sometimes I swore we carried on conversations with each other.”

She laughed as he began guiding Viserion to the edge of a forest. The dragon landed well enough, something she had always had difficulty with.

“I have no sword so we cannot stray far from Viserion and his protection. I’d say we could just warm ourselves under his wing-arm but he may not accept that like Drogon did with me.”

They ended up talking of the times he had spent alone with Drogon. She was laughing and smiling at some of the stories. When he told her of the time that he had removed an irritation from her skin and that the she-dragon had pissed on him because she was mad, she nearly wet herself she laughed so hard. Jon had grumbled, pretending to be upset, but he ended up chuckling as she laughed herself breathless.

He spoke of how well Drogon had protected him and cared for him. That if it hadn’t been for the dragon, he would have been dead. His stories took a more serious turn as he attempted to build a fire, but the wood was wet from melting snow and he could not produce sparks. Efforts to get Viserion to obey commands of _dracarys_ worked only so well, because his flames just utterly obliterated any wood they found.

They were both cold, but not unbearably so. She knew that word of spring would be arriving from Oldtown soon, and could not wait to see the beauty of Westeros in full bloom for the first time.

They ended up mounting Viserion again and flying west once more. They had followed the Blackwater Rush until it had veered north, and then they loosely followed the Gold Road.

It was nearly dark when Daenerys declared she could no longer stand the cold. With the sun gone, it was no longer tolerable.

That was when she discovered Jon was a little thief.

He told her to stay by Viserion when he spotted a large village. He was gone nearly an hour by the time he came back, wearing a thick but worn cloak, and in his arms, he held another, but with fur trimmed around the hood and shoulders.

For some odd reason, having him steal and provide for her in such a way made her blood thrum through her veins. He hadn’t noticed the way she was looking at him until she jumped on him.

“You are so naughty,” she whispered as she pushed him down onto the cloak he had stolen for her, and then yanked down his breeches. He was stunned at her actions, but when his cock sprung free, she knew that he was enjoying it well enough.

She rode him hard and fast in that barren field, next to Viserion who was resting from his long flight. They had not bothered being quiet, and as they both shouted their completion, the ravens in the trees cawed and scattered into the wind.

They slept for a short time under the cloak he had filched for her, with her laying on top of him. She felt safe and cozy, despite being in the wilds and exposed to the elements. Viserion had blocked most of the wind and the stolen cloak was fashioned surprisingly well. Jon’s body had been warm and she had been lulled to sleep with her ear pressed against his chest.

The dragon was the one who ended up waking them after an unknown amount of time. It was still dark, but it mattered not. They only had so much time to get to where she wanted to go.

Jon fastened the cloak around her shoulders and placed the hood over her bare head as they prepared to leave. He was staring at her in such a way that she wanted him again. She held herself in check, but did not hesitate to kiss him deeply and fondle him a bit. He was breathing hard by the time she pulled away, and she had a good laugh watching him mutter and adjust himself in order to sit in the saddle.

With their bodies warm and much more protected from the wind, Daenerys experienced awe as Jon snapped the reins at Viserion and yelled, _“Adere!”_

Viserion took off, even faster than before. Her hood wanted to fly off her bare head, and she was forced to hold it in place. Jon’s had long since lost its place, but as Viserion settled into his flying pattern, Jon replaced it and held it with his hand.

“I already miss my hair and beard,” he said. “It was nice having it to keep me warm while flying.”

Feeling slightly lecherous, she started running her hands over his face and then down his chest and lower. “I think I rather like you without hair. I have never been with a man that had no hair...down there.”

He laughed as he pried her seeking fingers away. It was already obvious he was becoming aroused, and she felt no pity for making him uncomfortable, especially when in saddle. It made her feel powerful to wield such control over his body.

“Hair grows back quickly enough. Perhaps I will have to go before the dragons with my cock out on occasion and ask for a trim?”

She ended up nearly gasping she laughed so hard. Never in her life had she laughed as hard as she did with Jon. His rare bouts of humor were priceless.

“Be careful they don’t take a bit of a nip off the end,” she said, and ended up laughing again as he squirmed in discomfort at the thought.

Soon thereafter, they dozed off. She hoped that they would make it by early afternoon, if Viserion was able to keep up the pace. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Author's Note** : So where are Dany and Jon headed?

 

And Petyr isn't dead! How did that happen? Anyone have thoughts on that?

 

 **Also, please follow me on Tumblr!**  I post Game of Thrones pictures/thoughts/and stuff from my story! You will get a heads up prior to the chapter being posted as well, with a little chapter snippet :) 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sōvēs - Fly
> 
> Dracarys - Dragonfire
> 
> Adere - Faster


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North Will Remember...

**Author’s Note** : Please follow me on Tumblr for updates, pictures, and overall delicious Game of Thrones stuff :D

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Please read and review, that's all I ask! :)

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter Twelve

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Tyrion

 

“It is literally impossible that you two are here right now. Completely and utterly. Are you both lackwits? Who is controlling King's Landing right now?”

Daenerys and Jon had come swooping down out of the sky and had terrified nearly everyone within several leagues. They had landed in the godswood at Casterly Rock as if they did it every day, and had met half an army of guards in the process.

Tyrion had yelled at them for nearly two minutes straight for their stupidity, uncaring that they were the people who technically ruled the country. It was his home and they were not where they needed to be.

“I had Vile Dog relay two separate messages. The first one was to Trystane, who was informed that I had to take care of an important, most desperate situation and would be gone for several days and possibly miss the wedding. The second message was to Ser Barristan, who now knows the truth and will have everything under control. Between the two of them, I am sure everything will be fine. Trystane is still under the impression things are as they were, and the High Sparrow quite likes him.”

Tyrion stared at Daenerys in complete disbelief. Her stupidity and ignorance hurt his head. Instead of dwelling on it, he waved his arms in the air and the young woman flew into his awaiting embrace. She got on her knees to hold him tightly and he squeezed her.

“Never leave my side again,” she demanded, pulling back to look at him more closely. He had long since lost his sensitivity at people looking at him up close, and he smiled crookedly.

“That depends. Have things changed?”

When she turned to look at Jon over her shoulder, who was tending to Viserion, he chuckled. “Of course they have. And you said Trystane does not know?”

She shook her bald head. Even with no traces of hair on her head or eyebrows, she was still lovely. A bizarre lovely, but he had seen every type of woman the world could produce. Jon looked funny without a beard and hair, but the black fuzz was growing back and he already had his beard coming in. He would have his hair back long before Daenerys did.

“Viserion should be safe here for now as long as he behaves himself...something I doubt he will be capable of. Let’s hope, shall we? Come, I want to show you something,” he said, feeling nervous as he drew her into his home. It was a place she had been before, for she had personally seen to the killing of most Lannisters, but it was different this time. Different in a way that could change the way she saw him.

He could hear Jon running to catch up to their slow gait. Daenerys had long since perfected walking slower to match his stride, something he appreciated.

“Tyrion, it’s it nice to see you well as usual. Daenerys told me you had left her and the whole city was falling apart.”

“I did no such—”

Tyrion saw the smirk on Jon’s face and grinned himself. The boy was apparently in good spirits. A rarity.

“Of course the city is not falling apart; I left it in such capable hands. I am sure that Daenerys dealt with all issues with finesse,” Tyrion said, leading them into a large drawing room. It was completely different from the time that the monarchs had originally been there, and he heard the queen gasp as she saw it with its new design.

Meereen had come to Casterly Rock. Tyrion walked over to the woman reclined elegantly upon a divan, and helped her stand after she placed her book on its soft surface. She curtsied prettily, as she always did.

“Queen Daenerys, Prince Jon. May I introduce my wife, Alestra Lannister?”

The look on their faces was stunned. He watched their reactions closely for clues, and then saw Daenerys blink several times before she smiled.

“Well, I...I guess congratulations are in order. You have my blessings and best wishes on your marriage. When did this occur? You haven’t been home that long.”

He relaxed slightly. He had feared her saying that it was unacceptable. The woman was Meereenese, and a mistress at that. Her family had been of impeccable breeding, but that did not help her reputation. He supposed that it had been time, however. He had needed heirs and Alestra loved him. The changes that happened in such quick succession in King's Landing had led him to believe that he needed to rebel a bit, and had asked the woman to marry him.

It hadn’t helped that she was with child.

Even now her hand was resting lightly on her abdomen, but neither of the royal persons within the room seemed to notice.

“It happened the day we returned to Casterly Rock, actually. We had discussed it on the way here and had agreed on several things. One, fuck the High Sparrow and the New Gods. Two, fuck the Gods in Meereen, whatever and whoever they are. Neither sets of gods have ever done anything for us. But there are some gods that have, and we both felt strongly that we marry under the heart tree in the godswood.”

He watched big smiles blossom on both of their faces. “That’s lovely,” Daenerys sighed. Her face was so mushy and silly he was glad Jon did not see it. It would probably make the boy flee in terror.

He wondered if Jon knew how much he was done for.

He laughed to himself, and enjoyed the looks of confusion on their faces.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

He was finally alone.

It seemed like it had been weeks since he had been alone, but he knew that wasn’t true. It had been more like two days. An eternity in a matter of hours.

Daenerys was with Tyrion and Alestra, talking of whatever future plans she had. There had been immediate discussion on Tyrion returning to King's Landing, and he was sure there were terms being worked out. Tyrion had been admonishing Daenerys practically since she had arrived, and he had a feeling that it had been a long time coming.

The surprising part was that she was accepting it.

He was relaxing in one of the large marble pools the Rock had in the guest rooms meant for the highest of honors. They reminded him of the ones at Maegor’s Holdfast, but they were smaller and much older. They were still a luxury he had never experienced until a few moons prior, and he sometimes still had a hard time dealing with those kinds of changes in his life.

He was battling with those changes now. He wished vehemently that Ghost was there to help him cope, but he wasn’t, and he knew that no one would be able to help him.

He could see the water undulating from the shaking of his body. Everything was happening so fast. There was so little he understood. He felt as if he wouldn’t be able to handle it any longer if he stayed here to think on it.

But he couldn’t move himself from the water. The more he wanted to get out to go find Daenerys and just talk to her, the longer he stayed.

_What are we?_

The question kept running through his head. Then he would see Val’s smiling face and want to cry. He remembered her phantom in his dream telling him to move on. To be happy. But it didn’t stop the uncertainty he felt.

_What is Trystane to her?_

It hadn’t taken but a few moments after relaxing in the water and cleansing himself to begin thinking negatively. It was as if his time spent together with Daenerys was fine; he was happy, and enjoyed being with her. But the moment he was alone with his thoughts...

When they had been in the Dragonpit, he had felt a considerable burden lifted from his shoulders. When she had admitted to killing the only man she had ever loved, when he had yelled at her for not understanding him, it had felt as if a door opened. That a light had been turned on in the dark. For so long he had felt as if he was the only one in the world who could fathom what he had experienced killing the woman he loved.

She had seduced him. He admitted that he had wanted it. Wanted her. The revelations had been enough to open a part of him that he had thought forever closed to anyone else. She had been so beautiful. He had missed her so much. She had missed him. And the fire, the supernatural feeling in the air—it had coalesced into a hunger he had never felt before.

It had been indescribable. He had never thought that being with her, or anyone, could be so intense. Passionate. It might have been the place, the atmosphere...but that was proven wrong as she had pulled down his breeches in that field and taken him without a care in the world. He had been unable to do anything but lay there and groan, staring at her writhing on top of him, crying out for all to hear her pleasure.

Her beauty and lust could not be compared to anything he had ever seen or known.

He sneered at his cock, which clearly enjoyed the way his musings were turning. He glared at it in disgust as it rose in the water to greet him.

His thoughts felt muddled and confused. They would go in one direction and then another, and he would never finish thinking on whatever the problem was as another surfaced. He felt his head begin to pound, and he sunk down lower into the water, until he was fully submerged.

He stared through the rippling water up at the gilded ceiling. Every room at Casterly Rock was so stunning sometimes it hurt the eyes. It was obscene, most of it. Even Daenerys thought so, saying as much to him quietly so Tyrion wouldn’t hear.

He closed his eyes and felt his heart begin to pound slowly and deeply as he began running out of air. She had changed out of the clothes from the Pit shortly after arriving and then bathed, and had looked so sweet in the dress Alestra had let her borrow. The Meereenese woman was much taller and more heavily endowed than she was, so it had been amusing to see her trying to manage the fabric. The way she had smiled bashfully at him as he had laughed at her, her eyes had been so bright and cheerful. It was as if—

“JON!”

The hysterical scream penetrated the water, and he had no time to react as he felt something heavy land right on his stomach. What little air was left in his chest came whooshing out. Nails dug violently into his skin and pulled him up by his ears.

He sucked in a deep lungful of air as water went spraying everywhere. Daenerys was soaked, her ill-fitting dress drenched from the water she had jumped into to get to him. Her purple eyes were wide, fearful, and welling with tears.

“I thought you were dead! What were you doing? You...you...”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. He watched as her hands covered her mouth and she struggled not to cry.

He sat up all the way, water sloshing over the edges of the tub, and grabbed her without thinking—pulling her, dress and all—onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck and held onto him, shaking so hard that he held her tighter.

“I thought...I thought you were better,” she said, so quietly he nearly didn’t hear it.

_Why do her words hurt and heal at the same time?_

He held her for quite some time before she leaned back in his arms to look at him. She regarded him, searching his face, her eyes no longer watering, but clearly concerned. He felt self-conscious of her staring at him in such a way, and looked down.

“No,” she whispered, taking hold of his face with both of her soft hands. Her grasp forced him to look at her. She freed one of her hands and her fingers moved from his cheeks to his eyebrows, which were still mostly gone. The stubble reminded him of his beard when he was younger.

Her fingers trailed along his face, down his nose, over his lips, along his jaw, under his tired eyes. Then she cupped his face again and stared at him straight in the eyes. Eyes he knew she would see were full of pain and confusion.

“I’m here,” was all she said...and his chest immediately began shuddering with painful, desperate breaths.

He held her tightly, as if she was the only thing in the world. As if she was a rock in the storm and it was trying to tear him away into nothingness.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t feel the need to. But he felt the need to have her. To hold her. To know she was there.

And he told her everything.

It came pouring out. From the beginning to the end. Of how he had felt growing up as a bastard in a castle where so few loved him and so many hated him or just ignored him. Growing up not knowing who his mother was, thinking that she hadn’t loved him. But for how lucky he had been with what he had been given, despite it all. That he had cherished what love he had gotten.

He told her of the Wall and his friends. Mostly all dead now. He talked to her of Sam, who she knew of, but had never met, because he was still in Oldtown. He told her of Maester Aemon, a man that he had spoken to her of before, but he spoke of him differently this time. With affection, and remembrance, rather than just informing her of a dead relative. He couldn’t see or feel her reaction, but could tell she was upset by her stillness.

He told her of receiving his sword. Of becoming Lord Commander. Of being betrayed by his brothers. What it was like to die.

She had held him tightly when he told her that story. He went into detail of the pain his body had felt and what it was like to feel yourself dying.

He told her of Ghost. Everything about the direwolf and their relationship. How he was a warg. That Ghost had saved his life because of it. And how Melisandre had brought him back with her magic and Ghost. He spilled everything about how much he had hated the red sorceress and everything she had stood for until that moment, and the bitterness and unknown he had experienced after coming back. The loss and confusion had never been worse than it had in those days following his return to his body.

He told her of how all those brothers had met his sword and lost their heads from it. Justice, he called it, and she nodded. Everyone had been terrified of him. Only his friends had stood by his side, and they had been precious few.

He told her of Val. He even told her of Ygritte. He got a few small laughs and giggles out of her from the stories, and even felt a smile touch his lips.

He told her what it was like to end Val’s life. To walk into that fire when Val’s body had been burned. Of his sword and the prophecy he didn’t think much of, even though Melisandre had prostrated herself before him on a consistent basis.

He told Daenerys what it was like when she had finally accepted him for who he was. Melisandre had been spouting the nonsense for months about who he was, but he had thought her insane. She had tried explaining the visions of his mother, of his father, but he had not been able to comprehend it until that moment.

So much was still not understood. He doubted he would ever know fully. As far as he knew, no one was alive who could have known.

He told her how he had been distracted from the pain of Val’s death from the war with the Others. And then immediately after their defeat they had went through much of the kingdoms to announce that she was the new queen and to receive fealty. He told her that he wished they hadn’t purposefully avoided the North on his behalf. He had been weak and weary of war, and had feared seeing Winterfell. Feared wanting to kill Ramsey Bolton, who still held control, when he didn’t want to kill anymore. It was the place Stannis Baratheon and his army had met their fate, along with so many others. He hadn’t been ready, and he didn’t know if he ever would be.

He talked about how the campaigning had shown him how little he had known about the world. How it had been a shock to see so much of Westeros when his life had always been filled with cold.

And then coming to King’s Landing. Of his anger at the High Sparrow and his Faith Militant. Of not understanding his duties. Of being afraid of her. That she had not been the same person when they had gotten to King's Landing, and how he had felt so defeated and withdrawn.

Then he told her of his feelings from when she had proposed to him. How he had been fearful he wouldn’t be attracted to her. She scoffed and laughed at him, and he even had a small chuckle escape him at her musical laughter.

Then he told her of his breakdown. How it had been too fast. Too much. He hadn’t been ready for it. He had felt happy when he was with her, especially as the days went by, but in times of loneliness, in those hours where he’d had time to think, it had just broken him down more and more. Then the bad dreams he had consistently had only gotten worse. He had tried to hide it all from her, so she wouldn’t know.

That night, when he had left, he had been suffering terribly most of the day and had tried to hide it. But he hadn’t been able to any longer.

He told her of his trip up North and everything that had happened. How he had returned to Val’s grave. How he had wanted to die. How he had given up, until the dreams had come to him. Drogon had been getting weaker and sicker, and he had thought the dragon was dying, but had just been growing eggs inside her the whole time. He told her how terrible he felt that Drogon had been cared for so poorly when he knew the she-dragon would have been treated like a queen if it had been known.

Then he told her that he was scared. Of everything. That he didn’t know if he would ever be better. That he was broken and probably always would be.

“You should marry Trystane. I’m not good. I won't ever be good.”

She sucked in her breath, as if his words were hurtful.

“You are good,” she said quietly, rubbing her thumbs under his eyes and forcing the tears to fall. A strangled sound came from his throat and he fell forward, burying his head against her chest as he cried. She cradled him against her, holding him tightly as he released the torrent that had been building inside him for years.

“I’m here, Jon. I’m not leaving. Ever.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

_Nothing could be worse than this._

_Someone save me. Anyone. Please gods, I can’t do this anymore. Just let it end._

_Let me die._

Her tears were long since dried. She had cried herself into unconsciousness from the pain. After the snot, tears, and blood had run down her face and the agony had eclipsed, darkness had finally welcomed her. But it hadn’t lasted long enough.

As the light filtered through her bruised eyelids, she had to pry them open from the crust and gore that had dried them together in order to see.

“There’s my girl. Ready to start your last day?”

She realized then that she was unbound. She scurried to the top of the bed, her body screaming, to try to get as far away from Petyr as she could. Beside him, she saw Morella, a smug grin on her face as she caressed the older man’s flabby chest.

Vomit built in her throat and she swallowed forcefully. Never in her life had she experienced the type of betrayal that Morella and Petyr had concocted, and now she was paying for it. Through all the terror and loss she’d gone through since she had left Winterfell all those years ago, this was the worst of all.

She would have accepted a thousand beatings from Joffrey. She would have birthed him a dozen children. She would have accepted his constant humiliation rather than this. She would have married anyone, done anything, than suffer this reality.

She wished she were dead.

Perhaps she would get her wish.

Morella’s tinkling laugh filled the room as Sansa shivered against the headboard, naked and feeling the most emotional and physical ravishment she had ever experienced.

“She knows she will not live much longer, Petyr. It is amazing you were able to put up with her as long as you did.”

The aging man smirked as he looked down at the red haired, blue eyed woman. Sansa had not realized until the previous night how important Morella’s looks were. How everything had been a setup from the beginning.

* * *

 

 

_“It has finally come to an end, hasn’t it, Sansa Stark?”_

_He had beaten her senseless. Her entire face was swollen, as well as her body. She could barely move or see. She felt faint, weak, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she was dying. Part of her wished she were. Another part wanted to fight. It was hard to know how to feel anymore._

_In her heart, she cried out for Jon. For her mother. Father. Anyone._

_But everyone was dead or thought her dead._

_She was alone._

_“I needed to finish my master plan. It originally involved you, but after marrying you, I learned that it would never work out. You turned out to be a liar and mostly useless. You didn’t have the strength of character to see it through. But Morella here does. She’s a devious little thing. The powers that be can see that as well.”_

_Sansa had felt the last of her tears fall and mingle with the wet blood on her mottled skin. Morella, the girl who she had thought was her friend, the girl who had helped her escape, who had supposedly been tortured and raped as well, had betrayed her._

_Betrayed her for power...and for Petyr._

_Morella striking Petyr in her room with the chamberpot had been nothing but a lie. A game. While Morella had assaulted him, it hadn’t been enough to injure him. The blood had come from a smashed vial of chicken’s blood, and he had cocked his head at an unnatural angle to make it look like his neck had been broken._

_She had never questioned it. She had been so naïve, so incredibly trusting, that she had never once thought to check him. To examine Morella’s sudden friendship._

_Petyr and Morella had told her the entire story, laughing hysterically at her idiocy. Her neediness. They would strike her every few moments as they spoke, kicking her or beating her with whatever was at hand._

_They had found it humorous to hit her with the chamberpot. Morella had positively died to watch Petyr piss on her as well._

_“Morella doesn’t look exactly like you, but it will do. I have kept you hidden for so long that no one remembers what you look like. What do you think of the new Lady Sansa Baelish?”_

_She hadn’t moved or said anything. It hurt too much to think, let alone move._

_“I could have never kept you, Sansa. You should know this. You are barren, stupid, and worthless. A liar. You aren’t a Tully and you aren’t a wolf of Winterfell. You’re a shell. I worked with what I could for as long as I dared. But as time goes on and I get older, the less chances I have of doing what needs done. I can wait no longer.”_

_He had raped her one last time before he left her bleeding in the bed. She didn’t think the pain of the beating could be surpassed, but it had been. Her insides felt torn apart, and she was bleeding slowly from her buttocks and between her legs._

_“We will be leaving soon. I plan to dispose of her body somewhere she will never be found. Then whenever we get back to the Eyrie, Morella will begin her part. The North shall be ours.”_

* * *

 

 

“The men are waiting outside. A carriage house shall bring us back to the Eyrie. The snows have melted well enough to bring us most of the way. You will arrive in comfort and style, Morella. Or should I say...Sansa?”

The two giggled together and kissed long and wetly. Sansa could hear the slurping noises of their saliva mingling and wanted to be sick again.

“Sansa, why don’t you get this deserting servant girl dressed? The remains of her gown are in the corner over there. I need to tell the men that we shall be leaving, and then I will return to help. Make sure she is covered sufficiently. We don’t want to take any chances. My men are completely unawares, and I want to keep it that way.”

Morella, or rather, the new Sansa, rubbed his cock through his clothes and smiled. “Of course, husband. I will see it done.”

Morella watched Petyr leave before she sauntered over to the bed in her fine new dress. It made her look much lovelier than what she was. Even her hair had been done in the way the Sansa preferred to style it, when she had been younger, freer. When she wasn’t locked in her chambers, alone. For too long.

“Poor thing. You were so desperate for help. For love. For anything. I think you would have listened to anyone saying they were willing to help you. I almost feel bad for what I am doing.”

Sansa felt her teeth begin to chatter as the girl went to retrieve the grey woolen dress in the corner that she had removed the day before, when she had fallen asleep. She shook it out and then carried it over, where she ordered Sansa to get up in a tone that broke no argument.

Sansa pulled herself to the edge of the bed too slowly for Morella’s taste. The girl ended up yanking her the rest of the way and forcing her to stand. Tears that she had thought she could no longer cry began leaking from her eyes again at the movement of her body and limbs. From being touched by a sadistic creature that she had thought was her friend, but had just been part of the game Petyr played.

The dress was pulled with sharp movements over her head by the hem. Morella went behind her to tie the laces on the back, yanking hard. She gasped in discomfort, unable to help it.

The girl snickered as Sansa straightened the bodice and pulled down on the thick waistband. Then she stilled, her heart pounding and her mouth going dry.

“You silly girl. If you weren’t such a sad excuse of a woman, you could have easily been queen. Queen in the North. How does that sound? Queen Sansa Baelish, it sounds lovely.” She finished tying the knot at the bottom with a sharp pull, but Sansa didn’t feel it.

She didn’t feel anything.

Sansa turned slowly to face the girl behind her. Her body, despite the pain, moved with purpose.

“It does have a ring to it,” she said flatly. Then raised the knife in her hand and stabbed the girl straight in the throat.

The struggle was nearly nothing. Morella tried to scream but only gurgled and gagged on her blood. Sansa pulled back on her dull red hair and looked her in the eyes, blue eyes so much like her own, before she sawed the dull tavern knife across her throat. She watched the life drain from her eyes, and felt no pleasure.

_You will never be Queen in the North. You are not a Stark. And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell._

Panic at what she had done hit her then. Blood was leaking onto the floor from the open wounds in the dead girl’s throat. Petyr would be back at any moment.

She no longer felt the agony in her limbs. Her heart was beating fast, too fast, and her breath came in short pants.

The knife was still in her hand. It was the same one she had stolen from the tavern they had stopped at an unknown amount of days before. Sansa had bent it just the slightest bit so that she could hide it easily in the waistband of her dress, and Morella had never known or noticed as she had pulled the heavy gown over her head.

She shoved the knife back into the band around her waist. Then she began dragging Morella’s body over to the bed. With less difficulty than she thought she would have, she pulled back the sheets and then deposited the girl’s corpse on the straw mattress. She immediately covered her and arranged her so that she was facing away from the door. She adjusted her hair to look like it had been done seductively, purposefully, and then ran to the tub where the cold water still sat from the bath she had never taken.

The linens that had been left for drying were used to soak up as much blood as she could, and then she cleaned the floor with the water and dried it.

It happened so quickly. Her heart was beating so hard that it was painful. And then she hid.

He took longer than she thought he would. She could have used the time to clean up the blood better, but if he wasn’t looking and unaware, he more than likely wouldn’t see it.

When he came into the room, she saw him pause at the sight of Morella in the bed, laying on her side. The pause worried her, but then he chuckled.

“Morella, or rather, Sansa, my sweetling. Come, there isn’t time for—gah!”

She had remained behind the door and he hadn’t seen her in the open room. She snuck up behind him and aimed wildly, knifing him low in the shoulder at an awkward angle because of the bent blade. She felt the metal strike bone and it would not go deeper. He cried out and tried to yank the knife from his back, but she beat him to it and pulled it out and stabbed again and again.

She wanted to pierce his flaccid flesh forever. She was eerily silent as she stuck him repeatedly. His cries became quieter and quieter, until he was quiet. The blood wasn’t as bad as she had hoped. She wanted to see the thick red liquid leaking all over the wooden floor like Morella’s.

“I will be the Queen in the North. I will show you exactly what I am capable of,” she whispered, standing over his dead body, triumphant and free for the first time in a long, long time.

_I am not your daughter. I am not your wife. I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Winterfell. Blood of Winterfell._

_And the North will remember._

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : Please review!

 

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	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note** : Sorry I took longer than usual to post. Hope everyone enjoys :)

 

Thank you to Aiur for beta-ing for me! <3

 

Chapter Thirteen

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Daenerys

 

She held him all night. He clung to her so tightly. It hurt her heart.

They slept all through the night and well into the morning. Their exhaustion had become apparent after they had pulled themselves from the cold water, shivering and their skin shriveled. They had dried off, and to her surprise, she had seen him look at her with fear at the empty bed in his room.

They had both been naked. She, of course, had wanted him. But she knew it would have been wrong of her to ask that of him after everything he had just told her. He had opened his very soul to her... it was the least she could do.

She had taken his hand and led him to the dais, where the bed sat in its imposing place. Tyrion had said many Targaryen kings and queens had slept in its downy confines.

He had resisted her briefly, pulling back on her hand, before she went to him and caressed his pale face.

"I just want to hold you. Nothing more."

He had been reluctant, but after she had pulled him under the warm blankets and had curled against him, he had relaxed. They had both fallen asleep faster than she had thought they would, especially Jon, but he had been so emotionally drained, he was out almost immediately. She had enjoyed the few minutes of quiet, listening to him breathe, holding him against her. She had, oddly enough, felt like she was protecting him.

Their rest was well needed. After Drogon had birthed her eggs, they had only had a few hours of sleep here and there. She slept long and deep.

She did not expect to be awoken feeling hot. A fine sheen of moisture coated her skin, and when she opened her eyes, she felt confused at the state of her body. Until she saw her prince between her thighs.

She gasped as her hands grabbed at his head, expecting his curly locks, but only finding stubble. He chuckled, making her moan loudly at the vibration against her flesh. Her body was shaking and felt flushed, needy. She thrashed her head back and forth on the bed, and then she felt his finger, teasing at first, but then sure as it delved deep inside her. She cried out and bowed off the bed, but his hold remained strong as she shuddered against his mouth, her body flooding with warmth and emotion.

"Jon!"

She shattered. Her thighs gripped his head as she rode out the waves of pleasure. When he raised his head, she was still panting.

"Fuck me," she demanded, and he did.

She threw back her head as his cock thrust inside her and moaned loudly. His mouth found hers and she nearly devoured him, tasting herself on his tongue. His pace was fast and hard, and she began moaning incoherently, unable to concentrate on his kiss any longer.

"Oh gods," she cried out, feeling her core spasm so powerfully that she nearly bucked him off her. He groaned, breathing hard, before gripping onto her thighs and then throwing her legs over his shoulders. She nearly howled at the feeling of him so deep inside her, before he bent down to find her mouth again.

"Oh, Jon," she moaned, her wet tongue flicking at his lips before she did the same to his cheek. She could taste the salty sweat on his skin. "You feel... so good."

She felt his frame tremble for a brief second before he gritted his teeth, closing his grey eyes tightly. "Dany... I'm... I'm going to—"

She drew in a sharp breath and felt herself instantly react to his desperate words. His hold on her became almost painful, and she felt her body convulse with little warning. She cried out, her nails digging into his arms as he threw back his head and groaned, loud and long.

When she opened her eyes, it was to see him above her, his face dotted with sweat and flushed. He was panting, his strong arms trembling just the slightest bit. He was still inside her.

She placed her hand on his chest and pressed, and he rolled off her. She felt oddly empty and cold immediately after.

He was lying on his back, his breath slowing. One arm was above his head, and the other sprawled out to the side. She moved so she was sitting up, and then bent her head down to place her lips against his.

His eyes stayed closed after they broke apart. She touched her fingertips to his face, and the faintest smile appeared on it.

"That was amazing," she breathed, watching as his eyes opened to look at her. The room only had filtered light coming in through the curtains, but she could still see everything she needed to. He was beautiful.

She moved down his body. He watched her closely, plainly unsure of what she was doing. She smirked as she found exactly what she was looking for. His cock was still hard, and she placed her hand around it, squeezing.

His face twitched and she bit her lip to try to hide her grin, but it didn't work. "When I was married to Khal Drogo, I had one of my handmaidens teach me the ways of the pleasure houses of Lys. To please my husband." She looked at him then. "I want to please my future husband now."

His eyes widened before he said, "No, Dany, don't—"

He hissed, his back bowing off the bed as she took his entire length into her mouth. He went to grab for her hair to yank her off his cock, but came up empty handed. She had the same reaction he did and giggled, although it was muffled. He was cursing and trying to get away from her, but she grabbed his hips and held firmly.

"Fuck, Daenerys, stop..."

She shook her head as she moved her mouth up slowly, then back down again. He was shuddering violently, clearly still sensitive from fucking her. She teased him with her tongue, and she felt his body relax for the briefest instance before he shook again.

"Gods, stop... I can't take—"

She took him fully into her mouth again, until he was passed the back of her throat. She stroked her tongue along his length, and she felt the hand that was still on her bare head spasm.

And then he groaned. His tight muscles loosened. She felt warmth flood her body and she moaned in response. He jerked his hips upwards, and she felt his fingers squeeze her head before they fell away entirely.

She knew then that he had accepted her torture.

"Gods," he whispered, and she looked up at him. His eyes were wide. "You are such a little..."

She released his cock with a naughty grin when he trailed off. "Little what, Jon Targaryen?" she said, before she took him between her lips again.

He groaned again, and she felt him get even harder in her mouth, if that was possible. His fingers found her face, and she opened her eyes, allowing him to pull her off of him once more. She climbed over him until she was face to face with him. He kissed her demandingly before he released her, and then she gasped as he bit her lower lip, hard.

"You are such a little whore," he said huskily, his tongue and teeth finding the pulse in her neck.

Daario had been the only person who had ever talked dirty to her. It had driven her wild, just like the times Jon had been rough with her, ripping off her clothes and throwing her upon his bed. And just now, biting her lower lip and calling her a whore. She closed her eyes as his teeth ravaged the sensitive skin of her neck.

He made her feel like a woman, not a queen.

She felt her heart beat swiftly in her chest. Her nipples hardened.

He didn't seem to realize her reaction. He was still ravishing her face and neck, his hand squeezing her ass and the other holding tightly onto the back of her neck.

She flung his hands off her. He was startled, not expecting her aggression, but neither did he expect her to grab hold of his cock and impale herself upon it.

He let out a sound that she could not describe, but it set her on fire. He found her hips as she placed her hands on his hard chest, and she rode him at a brutal pace. The noises he was making were driving her insane and she felt herself coming undone quickly. No man she had been with had ever been as vocal as Jon, and she loved it.

As the climax hit her, she felt her movements grow uneven and weak. He immediately took over, his hands gripping more firmly onto her hips and helping her move faster. She felt a cry rip from her throat as he prolonged her pleasure. Tears gathered in her eyes at the intensity, and as it faded, she found her rhythm once again. His hands went to her breasts, and she arched her back, throwing back her head. She missed the sensation of her hair tickling her skin, but the thought dissipated as his hands left her tits to go back to her hips, where he made her grind against him. He cursed and surged up against her, and she watched the muscles of his chest and stomach clench as he exploded inside her.

She collapsed against his chest, where his arms immediately went around her. "Good morning," he said, breathless.

She giggled.

 

* * *

 

 

Alestra

 

Westerosi people were so funny.

The culture was so stuffy and quiet. Too many things were to be sacred or unknown. People clothed themselves from top to bottom. Sex was so naughty and immoral. And women, they were the creatures of evil according to the Sparrow. The old bastard.

Her love was sitting at his desk, preparing several documents, as always. He wanted to make sure everything was set before their household left Casterly Rock to return to King's Landing. Especially now that she was with child, he worked feverishly to have everything provided for her and their child. To ensure that there were no possible loopholes if he were to pass.

Earlier in the day they had left their suite meant for the lord and lady, and had ended up stopping outside the sleeping chamber for the guests of honor, typically reserved for lords paramount or royalty.

It had been apparent that the royal persons within were not sleeping. Alestra had pressed her ear against the door, grinning, when Tyrion had pulled her away, shocked that she would do such a thing. She had laughed at him.

"Lord Tyrion, my sweetling, Hand of the Queen, Warden of the West, a man who loves to swear and fuck and bedevil half of the Seven Kingdoms, do you think it is naughty of me to listen to a man and woman make love?"

His face had been slightly pink, to her astonishment. "What is this?" she asked, flouncing after his surprisingly fast stride. "You know that the queen fucks. She fucked that little shit Prince Trystane multiple times. She has probably fucked Prince Jon multiple times as well. She fucked Missandei and that bedslave in Meereen. She has had two husbands. Who knows whom else she has had her way with. She is a lively one, uncaring of the thoughts of the men and religions of Westeros. Do you think that she is a whore?"

Tyrion had hushed her as they walked away from the room where it was clear the two were enjoying themselves, if the sounds coming from within were any indication. She had felt a thrill run through her body at the thought of Prince Jon and Queen Daenerys naked and fucking. They were probably beautiful together. She could not wait to see the children they produced.

"I don't think she is a whore, Alestra," he had said. "But we do not need to be pressing our ears against the doors of the two most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms. If they heard us, that could ruin everything. Their relationship is fragile."

She had giggled. "It does not sound fragile. It sounds hard. And loud."

He had rolled his eyes at her as she tittered. "Are you jealous, my lord? I can bend over right now. I feel the need to have your cock inside me."

He had chuckled at her. "You are truly a whore, my sweetling," he had said, bringing her into his study and doing just that.

Prince Jon and Queen Daenerys had appeared sometime early in the afternoon, both looking thoroughly ravished. Their skin had been bright and flushed and Alestra had looked at Tyrion knowingly. He had pointedly ignored her.

"I hope you slept well," Tyrion said, and she noted they both shifted around awkwardly in their borrowed clothing. She nearly burst out laughing. She had to bite her lips to keep herself from doing so.

"Are you hungry, Your Graces?" she asked, not wanting to put them on the spot any longer. They already looked silly in their poorly fitted clothes and bald heads. Their missing eyebrows made it even more comical. At least Jon's hair was dark and you could see the beginnings of hair, beard, and brows coming back. Daenerys, on the other hand, with her nearly white hair, looked hilarious.

She did think it adorable, however, how tiny Daenerys was standing next to Jon. He was much taller than she was, and the quaint girl only stood as tall as his chest. She could imagine how easily Jon could pick her up and toss her about. She nearly clasped her hands together and sighed.

As she was looking at them, it dawned on her how similar their features were. If Jon’s hair had been silvery-gold and his eyes amethyst, he could have been the male version of Daenerys. Their hairline, their eyes, even their mouths looked like they had been cast from the same mold. She could tell they were Targaryen just by watching them stand side by side.

Both royals were starved it turned out. They ate an early lunch and she watched them eat with a wicked smile on her face. They sat close together, and she caught them sneaking glances at each other often. She felt nearly giddy watching as Jon would hand Daenerys something and how Daenerys would look at him as their fingers touched and lingered.

Alestra was practically leaning forward in her excitement. She wondered elatedly if Jon would toss aside the tablecloth and food and throw the queen on the table and fuck her. Maybe Daenerys would stand up and just sit herself on Jon's lap and fuck him right then and there.

Tyrion was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Undoubtedly he could see her large breasts nearly jiggling their way out of her Westerosi gown. She wanted to scream and rip it off and demand the monarchs to fuck, she was so happy for them and so euphoric at the changes in both of them.

It was beautiful to see them looking at each other with their eyes practically glowing. It was a relief as well.

Tyrion was from Westeros and could not understand her mind fully, however experienced he was. She was from Essos, from Meereen. She was raised privileged and wealthy, and had traveled to many cities. She had seen men and women fucking in the streets as if it were normal, which it was, in broad daylight. With all of the religions in the world, sometimes it was common to watch a priest fuck a virgin in front of an altar before sacrificing her. She had watched men with men and women with women, she had witnessed groups of people writhing together in pleasure in the middle of a city square. Women and men with multiple cocks inside them, moaning deliriously.

It pleased her and brought the wild woman out of her to see the two acting in such a way. She only hoped to see more. Much more, if she could convince Tyrion.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

She was starving. Her stomach was gnawing painfully at her insides and felt bloated. Her throat was parched and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her body hurt so badly it nearly made her delirious.

"Please," she begged. Her voice was harsh, scratchy. "Water. Food. Passage. Anything."

The man was a merchant. He had been traveling in a cart that she had stumbled after weakly, having caught him traveling down the rutted road. He had stopped once she had pulled back her hood and saw she was a woman.

He eyed her with shock at first, perhaps at her appearance, and then leered appreciatively. She licked her cracked lips nervously. "Do you have water, good ser? Food?"

He was still looking at her. His brown eyes did not look unkind. His greying brown hair was dirty, oily. He smelled, and his clothes were filthy. Unfortunately, she probably looked the same, if not worse.

"How'll ye pay?" he asked, his voice more of a bark, which startled her. She dug through her ragged dress and cloak one more time, hoping that somehow, something would fall into her soiled hands. She flinched, and she immediately regretted it, for her face was still horribly bruised and battered.

"I am sorry, ser. My... my money was stolen. I am lost. Please, once I get to King's Landing, I will be able to pay you back handsomely—"

He harrumphed and clicked his haggard horse forward. The swayback mare neighed pathetically before she began moving, and Sansa felt hot tears well in her eyes.

"Please!" she rasped, scuttling after him. Her boots were starting to fall apart, the heel of one having come undone a day or so ago. She ran awkwardly to try to keep up with the cart and the man. Her body screamed, but she forced herself to follow him.

"Please, I will do anything!"

The cart halted, and she stopped. Her chest burned from the slight exertion, and she coughed as the very air she was breathing punished her. She tasted blood on her tongue.

"Anything, eh?"

She didn't understand his look at first. But then he leaned forward, and his foul breath hit her face. She forced herself not to retch.

"I've some dried deer meat an' a pouch of water for ye, if ye give me proper payment. If ye know what I mean," he said, eying her up and down.

She felt panic hit her full force. She only had her bent knife to defend herself. But she was tired, oh so tired. She knew she would not be able to fend him off if he pressed her.

"I... please. Just a sip of water. A bite of food. And I will be on my way. I won't bother you any longer," she said, moving her tongue around in her mouth to try to gather any possible moisture. His eyes were drawn to the movement.

"I'll give ye that an' more, if ye please me proper like."

Never in her life had she felt so low. So degraded. A daughter of a lord paramount, once to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A princess of the North. A great lady who had once had one of the most promising futures in Westeros.

Forced to beg and pay in methods of the lowest of whores just to have food and drink.

She felt herself nod weakly. He smirked and moved his cart off the road, where no one would notice them.

"What... what would you have me do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

His breeches fell to the ground then. She felt her chest palpitate and she nearly turned and fled. But she had seen the food and water he had promised her, and she could not go any longer without either. It was either do this and survive, or not and die.

I will never make it to Jon if I don't do this. I will never be safe again.

"Either ye suck me or I fuck ye. Yer choice."

His manhood was hard. It was short but thick, surrounded by a huge black nest. It looked at least somewhat cleaner than his hands and hair and face. But she could not picture putting her mouth on it without throwing up.

She felt herself turn around and lift up the torn remnants of her grey woolen dress. Her bare skin felt the cool air. Her smallclothes had been left behind in the inn, something that she had not worried about until now.

She did not think as she performed the action of lifting her dress. She didn't even flinch as she felt his callused hands caress her hips and bottom. Her flesh was discolored and aching, but she did not feel it. She felt nothing.

"Ye bleedin' a bit, lady. But I've no problem wit' that. Should ease the way a bit, eh heh heh."

His voice faded away at some point. Her face twitched just the slightest bit as she felt him enter her. The pain was there, but she ignored it.

Thankfully, it did not last long. He was within her for just a few pumps before he was grunting and jerking and spilling himself inside her.

She could feel his seed running down her thighs as her gown fell back down. She could not look him in the face as he shoved himself back into his breeches and went over to his cart. The horse whinnied and he grabbed what he was looking for, tossing it in her direction. She watched it hit the squishy ground.

"There ye be. If yer goin' to King's Landing, I'm headin' that way meself. There's a spot in the back of me cart if ye want. But it will cost ye. It'll take about a fortnight or so to get there, with a few stops. Then it'll depend on the weather. Spring is nearly here, I'm hopin'."

Desperation clouded her mind as she reached for the water skin. Her throat gladly accepted it, and she gasped loudly after drinking. He was watching her, waiting.

She could rest her feet for a bit, perhaps. Stay with him for a few days, to get her strength back. Get back on track to King's Landing, and then be on her own way again.

"Yes," she said, and she felt herself stand up straighter. "I will come with you."

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

They had to be returning soon. Despite Daenerys's tricks and plans, it wasn't a good idea to leave the city without her for so long, especially in a period where the crown was not as strong as the Faith. That was something they both planned to rectify, but it would take time and devious calculations.

He watched as she strolled through the godswood at the Rock. Her borrowed crimson dress trailed behind her as she stroked the newly forming green buds on the trees and plants. The stone garden was beautiful, surrounded with still dead flora, but he could imagine what it looked like in full summer.

Spring would be here soon, and he couldn't be happier to see the miserable winter finished. It wasn't his first, but it was by far the worst and the most traumatic. He never wanted to experience its like again.

He was sitting on a stone bench, just observing her. She knew he was watching her, and sometimes turned to catch him and smile or giggle. Then she would twirl away, making him search for her before she appeared within his vision and he would run up to her, catching her and holding her in his arms. Then she would squirm out of his hold and hide again.

It was an adult version of find-the-maiden, which he remembered playing as a child. Except this was much more fun and rewarding. He would get a kiss and perhaps a bit of a fondle before she would titter and run away.

She was by the weirwood now, their game seemingly over. The heart tree was huge and bizarrely twisted, but not ugly. She stood before it, staring at its enormous size and looking up into the red canopy. She placed her hand upon the severe face and stood still for quite some time.

His throat clogged with emotion as he watched her go to her knees. He knew her well enough to know that she was not the type of person to pray. But she had revealed to him that she had prayed to the Old Gods during his absence, asking for his return. He wondered what she was asking for now.

He felt himself drawn to her. Her dress was spread around her in a red circle, and she looked calm and relaxed.

"What are you praying for?" he asked quietly, kneeling next to her amongst the rotting leaves and burgeoning grass. Her eyes remained closed for a few moments before she turned to look at him, smiling softly.

"Do you really want to know?"

He searched her face. She was no longer smiling. He nodded.

"I asked the Old Gods to make you mine. For you to marry me."

He wasn't expecting that. "Daenerys..."

She moved to be closer to him. She took his sword-hardened hands in hers. He felt comforted by her touch.

It was odd how she made him feel that way. Perhaps it was because he had told her everything. She knew his deepest secrets and fears. And last night, when he knew she wanted to ask him to lay with her, she hadn't. Instead, she had held him. All night, when he had awoken once or twice, he had felt her curled against him, touching him in one way or another.

For the first time in a long time, he had not had painful dreams or horrible nightmares.

"I know that things aren't perfect. I know that moving too fast scares you. I—"

"Would you be willing to marry here? With the Old Gods watching? Under their ways? The Old Way?"

Her face flooded with color, and he could tell she was pleased. "I would be willing to do anything to make you mine, Jon."

He knew that it was inevitable. From the very beginning they were meant to marry, the moment it was discovered who he was. If it hadn't been him, it would have been Aegon, if he hadn't gotten himself killed. He had denied it for over a year in his pain, in the fighting and campaigning, and even in his desperation to one day have another to love. But he had a duty—to her, to the realm. Just like the duty he had as a man of the Night's Watch. As the Lord Commander.

He told himself it could be worse. He knew it could be. She was good, strong, and knew how to make him smile. She cared for him.

"What of Trystane? You know the Dornish are notorious for their vengefulness."

She looked away. Then she drew in a deep, thoughtful breath. "I have several ideas. I would rather discuss them later. But he is the least of my worries. Please, Jon. I want you as my husband. Not him."

He could tell by her face she was worried he would say no. It was different this time than it had been the first time she had asked him, though. He had known it was coming, and he felt differently about her. They were closer, and she understood him in a way that no one else ever had. Her losses were just as great as his, and together, they were able to comfort each other.

He nodded. Her face lit up. "Let us find Tyrion, shall we?"

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

Tyrion and Alestra thought it was a grand idea to get married out of nowhere.

Tyrion was practically cackling with glee as he collected a select few men and women to witness the ceremony. Since the only kin they both had were each other, Alestra was going to stand in for Daenerys, and the Master at Arms for Casterly Rock (and for the Tower of the Hand when Tyrion was in residence), would stand in for Jon. Tyrion himself would officiate the ceremony.

He couldn't explain why, but he was incredibly honored to have Tyrion do it. The dwarf chatted incessantly of his studies on the Old Gods, especially when he had been in Winterfell, and how he had been fascinated with the simple marriages and ways of the North.

Ser Mychael Hunt shook Jon's hand and said that it was an honor to give away the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Heir to the Throne. Jon had known him since Tyrion originally made him part of his guard, almost a year before. He didn't know him terribly well, but he seemed like a good man. He was in his late forties, had a wife and two children, both boys who were squiring for Tyrion.

Alestra had nearly screamed when Jon had asked Tyrion to marry them. Her bountiful teats had been trying to escape from her gown all day, and he had watched wide-eyed and slightly fascinated as she bounced around, hugging everyone. She had perhaps squeezed him overlong.

Daenerys had not wanted it to be anything but a simple affair, but Alestra had other ideas. She had pulled her away immediately, telling Jon and Tyrion that they would be back in a few hours.

Those few hours had found Daenerys in a gown that looked like it had been tailored just for her. He saw Alestra wink at him as he turned to stare at his future wife walking down the stone pathway, yellow flowers in her gloved hands, and her dress of white and gold. On her head was a golden veil, embroidered with white beads. It fell all the way down her back to the ground, and then trailed along the path with her dress.

She was beautiful. Even with her hair and eyebrows gone, she was striking. It looked like she was gliding on air as she walked through the candles and lanterns that lit the night.

Alestra was bouncing and twittering again in excitement. He ignored her as he watched Daenerys make her way towards the weirwood, her normally serious face glowing. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a smile on her pink lips.

He felt an answering smile reach his. Alestra sighed dramatically and fanned herself.

Then she was there. He wanted to touch her, hold her. But she was not his yet. He knew he couldn't do such a thing in front of the Old Gods of the Forest.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Tyrion asked, and he felt his heart start to beat ardently in his chest. His thoughts ran wild, seeing the woman before him staying by his side, her belly swelling with child, children of all ages running about them as they grew older.

He wondered if she pictured much the same.

Alestra stepped forward, her bronzed hand taking Daenerys' gloved one and lifting it in front of Tyrion. "Daenerys, of the House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Jon felt himself start to sweat as Ser Mychael stepped forward to say the words told to him by Tyrion. They had practiced for nearly an hour, for both Jon and Ser Mychael had feared saying the wrong thing. In the end, they had decided to cut back on everyone's numerous titles to lessen the confusion.

Ser Mychael took Jon's gloved hand, which he raised next to Daenerys's.

"Jon, of House Targaryen and House Stark, heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Who gives her?"

Alestra lifted Daenerys's hand slightly higher and closer to his. "Alestra, of House Lannister, lady to Lord Tyrion, who is Hand of the Queen."

Tyrion nodded. "Daenerys, will you take this man?"

Jon watched her eyes lift to his. They were wide and bright from the flickering fire around them. "Yes, I take this man."

Tyrion turned to Jon then, and he almost did not hear the words, he was so entranced by the candlelight curling in her amethyst eyes.

"Jon, will you take this woman?"

The words were spoken in a blur. The rest of the ceremony went by in the same manner. Then he felt Ser Mychael and Lady Alestra place their hands together. Warmth grew through his hand all through his body, and his heart, which had been beating swiftly, slowed. It suddenly felt as if it was just him and her there, standing in front of the heart tree, alone before the Gods.

He wasn't sure what happened after that. If anything was said. He could only see her, could only feel an odd sensation burning through his body, until he saw her plump lips part.

He hoped it was time to kiss her. Because he couldn't stop himself.

Her mouth was sweet. He felt her tongue caress his just the slightest bit, and he fought the urge to grab the back of her neck to hold her there. When she pulled away, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes held a faint shimmer of tears.

There was no bedding ceremony. No feast. Jon nodded to Tyrion, Alestra, Ser Mychael, and a few others before he took her hand and they left the godswood, the group behind them watching quietly.

Her pace was fast. Her fingers were laced through his, and he felt her trying to hurry. Her dress was trailing behind her on the floor and getting filthy, but when she looked at him and tugged at his hand, he knew she could care less about it. She only cared about them.

They ran the rest of the way to their chamber.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Author's Note** : Follow me on Tumblr! http://gohansonna2.tumblr.com/

 

Please comment :3


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note** : The wedding night of Jon and Dany, some behind the scenes with Missandei and Ser Barristan, and some more Alestra and Sansa. Thanks to Aiur for his beta work! Check out his stories :)

 

* * *

 

Chapter Fourteen

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Daenerys

 

"Ohhhhhhh!"

"Fuck!"

She was exhausted. But it was the best exhaustion she had ever experienced.

They collapsed on the bed, both breathing hard. The blankets and sheets were either gone or hanging halfway off the mattress. The pillows had been tossed across the room at some point or another, all ten or so of them. The fire, thankfully, had been tended to several times and wasn't completely dead.

Her heart refused to calm. She placed her hand on her breast and drew in a deep breath. "Jon... I know I've said this four times already… but that was incredible."

_You are more passionate than anyone I have been with. My body has never responded like this before._

He let out a small breathless laugh. His voice was hoarse when he said, "I don't know... what's gotten into me."

She rolled over to him and placed her hand on his stomach, which was moving with his fast breathing. His skin was still perspiring from their exertions.

Her heart was finally slowing. She draped her arm over him as she lay on her stomach, her head turned towards him. "This is not...typical of you?"

Her experience with men was not vast, but she had taken enough lovers to know that this was different. She would usually have sex twice in a row with Drogo before he could go no more until later in the day. Daario had lasted forever, but sometimes it would take so long that it became annoying. There was never a second time with him. And her last husband... she nearly shuddered at the thought.

"I haven't really ever had the chance to... _go_ more than three times in one night. And that was in an entire night. It was a one-time thing. With Ygritte. We had a cave all to ourselves, with an underground pool that was heated by a spring. It was... special." He was quiet for a moment before he continued, hesitantly. "I took my vows to the Night's Watch seriously. But something about her made it impossible to follow them. After I was betrayed... I was still Lord Commander, but I no longer cared. After I became close with Val, she more or less became the Lady Commander." He chuckled at the memory and it warmed her to her toes to hear him reminiscing happily. She had been worried he would fall into another pit of depression. "The Night's Watch was never the same after I died. The men who betrayed me I beheaded. The wildlings, the king’s men, the queen’s men, and Melisandre’s devotees all started filling in the empty roles. And then the white walkers and the Night's King started to attack. Then you showed up. The Night's Watch was no more, especially once the Wall fell."[](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_5)

She stroked his chest as she listened to him. It was always special when he talked like this and she dared not interrupt. "So not typical then?"

He let out an amused sound and turned toward her, drawing her against him. She smiled and snuggled into him.

"I couldn't necessarily say not typical. I was younger, less knowledgeable. Had little time. Time was a huge factor. I was perpetually awake for nearly a year fighting that war. When Val and I managed to find time, it was usually quick."

She smirked as she kissed his cheek. "Perhaps we should try again? For experimental purposes."

He let out a huge breath of air and she laughed as she flopped onto her back.

"Gods, Daenerys. You're going to be the death of me."

She felt her smile fade at his words, but she said nothing so as not to kill the mood.

He rolled over to her, and she turned to face him. His strong arms tugged her back against him.

He held her quietly for a bit and she felt herself drifting off. She was nearly asleep when she felt his hand trail down her spine to her bottom. Tingles from his light touch spread through her body. "Mmm," she murmured sleepily, smiling with her eyes closed as his tongue traced the underside of her breast.

"I want you again," he whispered, and she felt proof of it against her thigh. She felt heat gather in her core at his words, and rubbed her leg against his length. Even when he said the simplest things to her, sometimes his tone was just the right pitch to immediately set her on fire for him.

His teeth nipped lightly at the side of her breast. She drew in a sharp breath, and he chuckled as he discovered something else she enjoyed. In the hours since they had gotten to their room, they had each learned interesting quirks the other had.

"Do you like that, wife?" he asked, and she nearly melted at his husky voice.

"Oh gods, yes. Do it again."

He moved over to her right breast, where his tongue flicked her nipple until it was hard. She felt goosebumps rise on her skin, and then she yelped.

He had bitten her nipple. The sharp pain danced along her nerves. The small instance of pain then changed, and she moaned loudly and clenched her legs together.

He chuckled as he soothed the tiny hurt with his tongue once more. She shuddered as his hand grasped her other breast, squeezing firmly before it drifted down her abdomen to her where her legs were pressed together. She immediately spread her thighs for his questioning fingers, and then whimpered as those fingers found the spot she wanted them the most.

His teeth were still biting her skin. She started moaning again, feeling him increase the pressure of his nips. He was at her throat now, and she dug her nails into his back as he licked and bit the sensitive skin of her neck.

"You are soaked," he said in her ear, and she moaned hoarsely, her hips bucking against his hand.

"What do you want, my queen?" he asked softly, his tongue teasing the soft shell of her ear. Panting, she reached with her trembling hand to find his manhood, which had been poking her the whole time.

"I want my king's cock," she said throatily, trying to see his eyes through the darkness. There was illumination from the starlight trying to sneak into their room and the low fire, so she could see his features well enough, but even though she could see him, what she really appreciated was how she could hear his breathing hasten as her fingers caressed his hot flesh.

He sat up then, and tugged her up with him. He turned her so she was facing away from him and they were both kneeling on the bed. She felt incredibly short with him behind her, but the issue didn't seem to be a problem for him as he pushed her forward and she was on all fours.

Her toes immediately curled and he wasn't even inside her yet. "Oh Jon, fuck me. I want you to fuck me hard."

His left hand grabbed her hip and she felt his cock slide down the cleft of her buttocks to her opening, and she jerked against him, wanting him inside her. He teased her with the tip for a few moments, making her nearly delirious before he thrust forward, entering her fully. She screamed hoarsely, her hands fisting in the sheets.

"Oh yes! Ohhhh Jonnnnnn..."

His hold on her hips tightened. She cried out as he went faster.

"Gods... you are so beautiful..."

The next thrust had her coming undone. A low keening noise started in her throat as she began convulsing, and she wailed into the sheets. She felt his movements become harder, prolonging her pleasure, and he shouted her name as he exploded inside her.

"Dany!"

She shuddered for a moment before she collapsed. He fell on her, and she gladly accepted his weight. Together they panted, their cheeks pressed against each other, their skin sticking together from their combined sweat.

They were only laying there for a few moments when it hit her. Her eyes flew open and she lurched upward, startling her new husband. She tried shoving him off her but his weight was too much.

"Jon, get off... now!"

He immediately rolled off her, and she was flying off the bed. To the chamberpot.

Then she was violently ill. Her stomach heaved over and over again as it tried to rid itself of all its contents. Her whole body shook as she retched.

It had only taken Jon a few moments after she stopped to come to her side with linens and wine. She felt mildly irritated that he had not come to her instantly, but she supposed he had no hair to hold.

"I'm sorry, Daenerys... If I had watched you being sick I might have gotten sick as well. It's one of my many flaws."

Well that explained why.

"Thank you," she said quietly after she wiped off her face and he handed her the wine. She swished her mouth with it and spat it into the chamberpot before she drank the rest, wanting to soothe her burning throat.

She was so embarrassed. She had no idea what had caused her to do that. She couldn't look at him.

He helped her stand, and then she gasped as he picked her up and carried her the short distance to the bed. She curled against him in the few seconds it took to bring her there, and he kissed her forehead.

"Are you getting sick?" he asked, going about the room and picking up a few of the pillows. He placed several behind her and she reclined gratefully. He began adjusting the sheets and blankets and had her settled quickly. She sighed at his thoughtfulness, and when he was finally next to her, she wrapped every limb she could around him.

"I don't know...I haven't ever been legitimately sick before. I have gotten ill from drinking bad water and food, but most people have." She was quiet for a moment before she tucked her head under his chin, feeling shy. "I'm sorry... I've ruined everything."

She felt him raise his head to look out the windows. It was still dark outside. She wasn't sure how many more hours of night they had, but she knew that they would need to leave on the morrow to go back to King's Landing.

"You haven't ruined anything," he murmured. "Let's get some rest. Hopefully you will feel better."

She nodded, feeling tears prick her eyes at his words. She felt as if her being sick had been the ending of a wonderful night, a night that she had spoiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Alestra

 

"Pleeeeeeease!"[](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_10)

Tyrion had his arms crossed. "I want nothing to do with this. They are like family to me."

She squealed and ran across the room to the painting that swung outward and revealed a tiny peephole.

She nearly smashed herself against the wall trying to see. The first thing she saw was a nearly dead fire. Then her sight panned to the left, and she gasped in delight.

"What?" Tyrion snapped, but she ignored him.

The newly wedded monarchs were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Jon had his bride bent forward on the bed, and she could see him plunging into her again and again. The sight of her writhing on the bed was remarkable. She wished she could hear it happening just as she was seeing it.

"Oh Tyrion, my love. I wish you were more voyeuristic. This is so... so..."

"Evil? Lecherous? The list goes on, woman."

She shook her ass at him but did not turn away from the pair on the bed. Jon was fucking her hard and fast, and she could see how it was driving Daenerys wild. The woman's hands were gripping the sheets desperately, and Alestra relished the sight of the queen's perfect tits and ass bouncing from the force of their union.

When she saw Jon throw his head back, she bit her lip. A few seconds later they both fell onto the bed, and she sighed happily as she closed the hinged painting.[](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_12)

"Did you get what you wanted?" Tyrion said grumpily, sitting in a chair by the fire. They were not in their room, but rather in a sitting room that was typically used by the guests using the room next door. It was the only way to spy on them, and Alestra had been begging Tyrion all day to get a peek at them.

"Yes, I did. And they were glorious. Daenerys is truly beautiful. And Jon..."

Tyrion's book snapped closed. She jumped at the sound, and then watched as he slid from the leather chair, walking toward the door to leave.

"Jon was magnificent? Dazzling? Striking? Every word you can think of that means attractive?"

Alestra frowned as she followed her mad husband. He stomped down the halls to their chambers. When their door was closed behind them, she started tapping her foot, gaining his attention.

"He is an attractive man. Any woman could see that. Just like how you can see that Daenerys is a beautiful woman. That, any man could see. What is wrong with that?"

He was undressing. He always slept naked and so did she. When he climbed into their bed, she felt angry that he would not help her undress. She normally had a maid help her with the ties on the back, but they had stayed up much later than usual.

She crossed her arms across her impressive bosom. "Are you jealous?" she asked, her dark eyebrow jutting upwards.

"Of course!" he yelled, slapping the blankets as if they were the offending party. "He is handsome, nearly perfect if not for all of his scars. You have been wanting to see those two fornicate since they arrived, and now you have. You have officially made me insecure."

She threw back her head and laughed and laughed. He was extremely pissed by the time she was done. "You stupid man," she said, walking over to the bed. "I love you. I could have had any man I wanted, but I chose you."[](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_14)

His face changed slightly at her words. "I could have married any man in Meereen. But I followed you. I yearned for you for a year, missing your cock and your words. You spoke unlike any man I had ever met. And your cock fucked me in such a way that I knew you were meant to be mine. Your cock was made for my cunt. How many times have I told you that?"

He was frowning, but at least he no longer looked angry. He still needed some convincing, she saw. "Fuck me now. I will prove to you that I love you. That I want your cock and only your cock."

He fought it, but a smile appeared on his face. "No wonder you are pregnant. I can't keep you away from me for more than an hour, I swear."

She smirked naughtily. "We shall have many children, my love."

He looked happy at her words.

 

* * *

 

 

Barristan[](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_16)

 

The queen and the prince had been gone for three days when the ravens arrived from Casterly Rock.

He had sighed with relief upon reading her words. Grand Maester Hyndyll had smiled as he placed the tightly rolled parchments into his hand, all bearing the seal of the Lord of Casterly Rock. "She must be safe, Ser."

In the note addressed to him, her words were in code, more or less. She wrote in a mixture of Dothraki, Meereenese, and High Valyrian. The chances of someone that knew all three languages intercepting the message would be little and less. Even he struggled with them, but he was able to make out most of the words.

We are... Will be home... We are one.

He didn't catch two of the words. But he guessed it was something along the lines of:

_We are safe. Will be home soon. We are one._

The queen had married Jon. He felt like he had not smiled in a long time. The movement on his face felt odd. But when he figured out the words, it grew on his face. It felt like he could suddenly breathe more easily. The aches and pains of his aging body drifted to the back of his mind, and he strode with purpose to the chamber that Prince Trystane was using.

The boy had taken residence in the royal wing of the palace upon his betrothal to the queen. His rooms were that of a former prince's, one that had not been used since Rhaegar had been alive and the baby Aegon had slept in its confines, often with his mother.

He had been thankful that Daenerys had denied anyone access to the room that Rhaegar had once occupied. Not even the Lannisters and Baratheons had used it, and it remained closed to this day.

Barristan hoped to one day see the queen's first child be given that room.

Once they had arrived to the city and she had officially declared herself queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she had taken a tour of the Red Keep, the castle her ancestors had built. She had been quiet most of the time, with Jon trailing behind her forlornly, looking out of place in all black.

She had gone to the king's chambers first. It was the room her father had slept in, followed by Robert, Joffrey, and finally Tommen. There were even rumors that Cersei had taken up residence there after Tommen and Myrcella had died, when she had been going mad.

Barristan had told her that the chamber had not changed much since her father had been alive. Some of the furniture had changed, but the bed, and other important artifacts remained. What had been removed had more than likely been put in storage, where it could be retrieved.

The queen's chambers were not very feminine. Ser Barristan knew that these chambers had been changed significantly. With Cersei being who she was, she had removed much of what had been in the room. The rooms had been filled with Lannister gold and red, and both Jon and Dany had enjoyed watching it be torn down. Furniture hidden away for many years had been returned, and Jon had made the room his while Dany had taken the chambers meant for the king.

There were many, many rooms in the royal wing of the Holdfast, not even including the Maidenvault. At one point there had been so many Targaryens it had been impossible to house them all together. The group had wandered through all of them, and the queen had been able to see where generations of her family had slept. Ser Barristan had pointed out that the chamber young Viserys had slept in had been Prince Joffrey's. She had thought it appropriate, based on what she had heard of the boy-king.

Rhaegar's room had been draped in white linens, the windows covered. Daenerys had torn down the fabric keeping out the light, and Jon had been able to see his father's belongings for the first time.

His face had been pale, but he had moved around the room touching the objects as they were uncovered one by one. There had been shelves upon shelves of books, mostly containing poems and music. One room, meant to be Rhaegar’s study, had been converted into a music room. Jon had been stunned to see the instruments, covered in a thick layer of dust.

"Your father loved music, Your Grace. Especially the high harp. It was his favorite. He played magnificently."

Ser Barristan did not think Prince Jon... now King Jon, had returned to the room since the first time he had been there.

He walked by all of these rooms now. Ornate doors on both sides of the hall went by, until he arrived at the chambers that had housed Tommen before he had become king.

There were four guards standing outside. All four were Dornish and dressed in the Dornish military fashion. He stood before them for a brief moment, looking at all of them one by one before he said, "I request an audience with Prince Trystane."

One of the men, young and browned by the sun, curled his lip just the slightest bit. "Prince Trystane is busy. State your business and we will relay the message."

A smug smile returned to his face. "I guess that the prince is not interested in word from the queen, then?"

All of the men looked at each other, before one opened the door and disappeared within.

When Prince Trystane arrived at the door much later, he was dripping in sweat and sloppily dressed. Ser Barristan felt his eyes narrow.

"Word from the queen," he said, handing the tiny scroll to the prince.

The young man nodded and closed the door in his face.

The guards gave him dirty looks as he stood there. "Are you done, old man?" one of them asked, and he nodded.

Whatever Queen Daenerys said, he hoped that it did not reveal what she had done. He wanted to see Prince Trystane and his men thrown out and gone from the city, while his queen stood by her true king.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

She had slept curled up in a ball in the back of the cart, and even though she had awoken with stiffness in her neck, she felt much better.

The merchant, whose name was Teb, had stopped in a small village to trade only a few hours after she had joined him. When he had come back, she had still been sitting in the cart, hidden under her cloak.

"I can get ye some help...but I know ye don't have money. I think ye need to see this lady though. She be a midwife."

Sansa had refused. If the only way she could get help for her injuries was by selling her body, then she wouldn't do it.

The man had shaken his head and they had left the town.

A day or so passed in the cart, with her being jostled around and wincing as her injuries were aggravated. They had gone to another town and stayed for the night. Teb had invited her into the inn room he had rented, saying he would be in the town for two days before he left. She was welcome to earn a bath and food if she wanted to join him.

It ended up being the second time she let him have her body so she could have food.

It was blocked out more or less. The good thing about the older man was that he didn't last long. Thankfully she was given a bath right after, the first one she'd had since she left the Eyrie.

It made the biggest difference in the world. Even though she was still bruised and beaten, she felt clean. Dried blood rinsed away. Her hair flowed down her back past her hips, and she had the chance to wash her battered dress. She hung it before the fire and wrapped a blanket around herself as she waited for it to dry and for Teb to come back. He was gone most of the day trading and bartering, and when he came back, he stopped in his tracks.

"Seven Hells. Yer a beauty."

She blushed, for it was the first real compliment she'd had in the longest time.

"Thank you," was all she said.[  
](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_24)

It continued like that for a few days. She felt her strength coming back. Her stomach was full. She paid for her food and bed and the comfort of knowing she had some protection and a ride to King's Landing. All it cost was her body.

On the fifth day with the man, they arrived in a much bigger town. She knew some of the names of these places, and cared little. She just wanted to be closer to Jon. She counted down each day in her mind, and her heart swelled knowing she would be there soon. She would be safe soon.[  
](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_25)

Thoughts of Petyr never came to her. She had too many other thoughts on her mind to even think of him. After all the years of misery, she would be safe. It was all she could think about. She would pay any price for that.

When they stopped in the town, she had enough confidence to walk about with Teb, just to see what he did. She watched as he haggled some of his wares and traded for others. He was good at what he did, for every day the space in the back of the cart grew smaller. Soon she would have to sit with him on the front.

It was when she was walking by a stand in the market that she stopped. There was a silver plate shining in the bright sun, and she smiled, ecstatic, stepping up to it.

She nearly screamed.

Sansa had not seen herself in the longest time. Petyr had purposefully kept mirrors from her. He had known she was vain girl, and it had tortured her not to be able to see herself. He'd even had reflective surfaces removed in her room.

Her face was swollen, and mottled with yellow and varying degrees of purple. Her one eye was slightly bloodshot and she feared what it had looked like days before. She had both small and large cuts upon her fair skin, and one above the eyebrow with the bad eye was awful.

She had known it was serious. The pain was there every time she moved her mouth or her face twitched a certain way. But she'd had no idea it was like this. Her eye hadn't hurt too terribly though, and she was surprised at its appearance. Perhaps it was because she was used to pain.

All in all, she could still see, and she tried to calm herself with that knowledge.

_You are not permanently damaged. This will heal. Everything you are going through now is only going to make you stronger. You'll be safe soon._ [](https://d.docs.live.net/7e212b8e6d3d6460/Stories/GOT/RandR.docx#_msocom_26)

The words were repeated in her mind as she fled back to the cart to hide herself. She would have never gone into the market if she had known how badly she looked. She would have never shown her face to anyone, ever, if she had known. Despite her hunger, she more than likely would have let herself starve to death had she known.

When Teb returned, she yelled at him. "Why did you say I was a beauty? I had no idea I looked so horrid. My h—my keeper, he beat me. I didn't realize I was so... damaged."

Teb looked unconcerned at her words. "In the world I've lived in, ye learn ta look past things like dat. I knew ye don't look like this always. Ye'll heal and be a beauty."

Sansa wasn't so sure.

 

* * *

 

 

Missandei

 

She saw and heard things.

People, especially men, always saw a quiet young woman instead of a person who was, more often than not, spying.

She was good at what she did. Tyrion often called her the Mistress of Whispers, but she was not sure what that meant. He also called her many other things, for she was like a second Hand of the Queen, always handling correspondence and taking care of minor situations instead of bothering Tyrion or Daenerys.

She would roam the halls of the Keep and listen to conversations just by pretending to be a servant. She had never taken to dressing extravagantly, despite the handsome wage that Daenerys paid her. She was consistently mistaken for a handmaiden, and the general public seemed to think that servant's tongues did not wag.

But they did.

With Daenerys, Jon, and Tyrion gone, it felt like she and Ser Barristan were running the kingdom. It reminded her exactly of the situation in Meereen, nearly three years ago.

Prince Trystane was a poor, easily manipulated boy, and was consistently duped by herself and the Lord Commander of the Queensguard. They gave him insignificant tasks and even made many of them up to give the illusion that he was doing something worthwhile, when really they were just trying to distract him from the real problems so they could be handled in a manner similar to the queen's.

Missandei reported everything she heard to Ser Barristan and vice versa. They kept each other informed as they handled court matters, laws, various types of legislation, and drafting of correspondence. Whether or not Daenerys was present, there was a kingdom to run, and they were doing the best they could.

It made her miss Grey Worm, who had been in Meereen for moons. She hoped he would be back soon. His calm demeanor and knowledge were always appreciated in their council meetings.

Trystane held court to deal with issues within the city. Most of the matters involved theft and were easily dealt with. Trystane was fair, surprisingly.

Once court was over, however, Missandei silently followed his retinue of soldiers, ladies, and young men towards the royal wing. She walked right by them as they filtered into his set of rooms and went into the one next door, the rooms that were closed off and smelled with disuse.

Tyrion had been the one to show her many of the secret peepholes, doors, and walkways throughout the castle. She took advantage of them on an almost daily basis.

When she pulled the sconce away from the wall, a small hole appeared. She placed her eye against it, and observed for some time.

She was no longer shocked by things she witnessed. Long, long ago her youth and distress had been beaten out of her. She had learned to keep her face passive and accept everything around her and happening to her. It had not been until Daenerys had taken her for her own that she had started becoming a real person. She was no longer "this one", but Missandei. She was once a scribe, but now she was more. She was a friend. Part of a family.

It was quite a while before anything happened. She watched as the men and women in the room began undressing, and soon the group of bodies twisted and moved together. In the middle, was Prince Trystane.

She was aware that the Dornish were a passionate people. There was a man behind him, and a woman on her knees before him. Then there were others doing similar things around him.

She closed the sconce and left the musty room. She went to the suite of rooms the queen occupied, and found Ser Barristan, along with a dozen or so Dothraki who were grooming each other in a circle. He looked tired, but was working diligently on a parchment in front of him.

"Prince Trystane is occupied in his typical fashion," she reported, and Ser Barristan sighed as he pushed the document forward to her.

The broken seal showed that it was from Winterfell. Her eyes narrowed as she read the spidery script.

"Ki—Prince Jon will not be happy. He has avoided the North since we left the Wall."

She had nearly bitten her tongue off stopping herself from calling Jon king. She had only found out that morning from Ser Barristan, and it was a closely held secret.

"I doubt the queen will be happy either. With their special situation, I imagine they will not want to deal with anything for some time. But it looks like they will need to."

She understood what he was stating. The new king and his bride would undoubtedly want plenty of private time together, instead of dealing with the drama of their kingdom.

"Were you able to locate the original documents we spoke of earlier?" she asked, pushing the text back to him.

He rubbed his forehead. "The Tower of the Hand was cleaned out. Any of the documentation signed or drafted at any point more than likely went with Tyrion. Hopefully he will be returning now that things have changed."

She nodded. Now that the marriage situation had improved, they would need the original paperwork signed and witnessed by many.

She caught his eye as he rolled up the parchment from Winterfell. They both could see the worry in each other's eyes. If they weren't careful, everything could go wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Author's Note** : Next chapter is freaking incredible. The return of Jon and Dany to King's Landing...and Trystane.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are not as they seem...  
> Confrontations and aching souls...

**Author’s Note** : Well, here it is. The chapter where Jon finds out about Trystane.

Thank you to Aiur for his incredible beta work. If not for him, I would be lost <3

* * *

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝◞◜◝

 

Jon

 

"Kill me now..."

Jon adjusted her so she was leaning against his chest and was hopefully more comfortable. She groaned in misery.

She had been throwing up consistently since earlier that morning. Jon had left her curled in a ball in their room once the sun had risen, for she had finally fallen into a restless sleep. He had found Tyrion and Alestra breaking their fast, both with wicked grins on their faces. But when they had seen him, their smiles had died away.

"What is wrong?" Alestra had asked, standing. Apparently she had been able to tell something was amiss by his face.

Jon had waved at her, and she had sat back down. He had looked at the food displayed on the table and had felt nauseous himself after what he had gone through the last few hours trying to make his bride feel better.

"Daenerys is ill. She's been retching half the night."

Tyrion had frowned immediately. "She is never sick. It's something she has reminded me of several times. Well, except for that time when she left Meereen, but that was assumed bad water."

Jon had shrugged, unsure. "I'm going to let her rest for as long as I dare, but we need to leave this morning. We can't risk staying here any longer."

Tyrion and Alestra had agreed. They themselves had already begun packing up their household to leave within a day or so.

They had prepared warm clothes, food, and other necessities for the flight back to King's Landing. Alestra had made some last minute changes to the payload, placing some light fare in a leather pouch along with some herbs to calm an upset belly.

Daenerys had been unnaturally pale and weak when he carried her from their room. The interior had the scent of sickness, and Alestra's nose had curled.

Viserion had been on his best behavior. Jon had been impressed when the dragon, seeing him carrying his mother wrapped in a thick black cloak lined with fur, had lowered himself to the ground to make it easier on him to climb onto his back with the precious cargo.

Tyrion and Alestra had waved goodbye and promised to see them within the next week or two, depending on the weather, which they hoped would hold.

Now he was holding a very unwell woman, who was moaning as the movement of Viserion's beating wings made her even more ill.

"I'm going to be sick..."

Jon jerked her to the side as the vomit flew from her mouth. He looked away and drew in a deep breath, trying to hold his own stomach.

Viserion screeched in irritation as Daenerys's puke ended up splattered on his wing. Jon refused to look, but he had heard it.

"I'm dying."

He pulled her back against his chest and gave her one of the several handkerchiefs Alestra had thoughtfully stuffed into an inner pocket in his cloak.

"You're not dying. You just aren't used to being sick. It seems that much worse because of it," he said, handing her the water skin that had been tied to the saddle.

She hadn't eaten much, so at least her retching wasn't as bad as it could have been. She yawned widely and curled back into him, and he settled his chin onto her head, which was covered with the soft fur of her cloak.

She was asleep quickly. He sagged with relief, hoping she would stay that way for as long as possible. He urged Viserion on as fast as he dared, hoping to get some distance behind them while she was resting and wouldn't be disturbed by the more powerful movements of the dragon's body.

It was twilight when she stirred. He was exhausted, but hadn't dared risk sleep when she was so fidgety in her sickly slumber. It would have taken just one moment's inattention and she would have twitched herself right off Viserion's back.

"Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"I...I need to use the privy."

He chuckled as he nudged Viserion with his leg in such a way that indicated he wanted to land. The dragon began a slow descent. He thanked the dragon silently once more for being so well behaved.

"There aren't any privy's around here, but I'm sure a bush or tree would do?" he asked, amusement in his voice.

She elbowed him in the side and he squeezed her in return. It was apparently the wrong thing to do.

She instantly vomited.

He didn't stand a chance.

He was at least able to turn his head as he followed her in kind. Viserion was pissed, and his landing was none too gentle.

Jon jumped off the dragon and bent over, trying not to be sick again. He was covered in vomit from the both of them, and so was she. She was sliding off the dragon's back, groaning pathetically and trying to apologize at the same time as she dry heaved again and again.

When he recovered well enough, he tried to clean himself off. She was kneeling in the field, her arms wrapped around her middle with tears pouring down her ghostly white face.

"Jon... I have never been so humiliated in all my life. I'm sorry."

It was hard to be mad at her. She was clearly ailing and it had been his fault for squeezing her. He just wasn't used to dealing with sick people, and what people he had dealt with had been men. Years in the Night's Watch hadn't been able to temper his stomach though, when it came to others being violently ill in front of him. It usually triggered an instant reaction.

His brothers had thought it funny that he could fight and kill without much thought, be bathed in blood from head to toe, skin an animal and gut it, but get sick at the sight of someone puking.

He walked over to her and helped her stand. She wouldn't look at him. She appeared completely pathetic and ashen. He felt an odd tug in his stomach, but it wasn't from being sick.

"It's alright, Dany. We will be home soon. Then Grand Maester Hyndyll can care for you. I'm sorry I am a poor provider."

The tears that had begun drying on her cheeks were soon renewed as she looked up at him. She threw herself at him. "Only you wouldn't be mad at me for throwing up on you."

"Who said I wasn't mad?"

She pulled back, and her eyes were so wide and distraught that he laughed. "I was jesting. Go use that bush over there as a privy," he said, trying not to laugh more.

Color brightened her cheeks as she pulled away from him. "I should kiss you with my vomit riddled mouth just to make you sick again."

He choked at the thought, and her laughter rang through the field.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

King's Landing was in sight. Both of them were grumpy, and he couldn't wait to get off this dragon.

Ever since they had bathed Viserion in their vomit the dragon had been an ass. The flight for the rest of the way home was the worst, and Jon's arms and legs were burning from the strain of trying to control the little shit. It was nearly morning, and the faintest signs of the sun were showing up on the horizon.

It had taken much longer to get back than the original trip to Casterly Rock.

They saw the small army marching toward the Dragonpit with torches, and they circled several times to wait for them. They noted that the Pit was heavily guarded, as was the entire city, and they both felt their spirits lift at the chance to see Drogon and her eggs. Even Viserion finally stopped acting cross and came in for a smooth landing.

The Pit was eerily silent and empty. Daenerys was still sick, but she ignored the weakness of her body and walked as fast as she could to go to her daughter in the lower levels.

Drogon was waiting for them. Daenerys and Jon immediately went to either side of her huge head and stroked her. She emitted a rumble, almost like the purr of a content cat.

Daenerys then went to see the eggs. Jon checked on Rhaegal, and saw that the dragon had been bringing in kills to Drogon so she could eat. There were piles of burned bones all over the vast room.

Viserion had flown off the moment Jon and Dany had gotten off his back. They had been surprised that he had shown no interest in seeing Drogon, but they imagined he was going to bathe himself.

Daenerys was cooing at the eggs when he went to check on her. The dark marks under her eyes showed how tired and sick she was, and he tugged her up and into his arms. Her small burst of energy had not lasted long, but she had a smile on her face.

"Drogon is a good mother," was all she said before she rested her head on his chest and allowed him to carry her out of the Pit. He didn't mind the burning in his arms so much then.

Ser Barristan and Missandei were waiting for them. Jon was surprised not to see Prince Trystane, but caught the amused look on Missandei's face and knew that they had not bothered waking him.

He was given a horse, the same one he had left the Wall with that had once been Lord Commander Mormont’s horse. He was pure black and powerful, and Jon had taken a liking to him the moment he had first been introduced to him when he had been made the Lord Commander's steward. Lord Commander Mormont had named him "Blackie" in his typical dull fashion.

Daenerys's silver was there too, but Jon took one look at his bride and her colorless face, and mounted his horse in one fluid motion with her in his arms. She made a content sound in her throat and sagged against him, nearly boneless. Despite the tiredness of his arms and body, he felt pleased that she trusted his strength so thoroughly.

The Unsullied and City Watch marched beside them as they made their way back to the Red Keep, far off on Aegon's Hill.

"What is wrong with the queen?" Ser Barristan questioned, and Jon could see the concern on his aging face.

"She's been ill for over three days now. Nausea, vomiting, and weakness. She can barely keep anything down. She needs to see Grand Maester Hyndyll."

Ser Barristan nodded. "I will make sure he is awoken immediately. I will be waiting for you and the queen upon your arrival." He paused, and Jon saw his wrinkled face expand into a big smile. "Congratulations, Your Grace."

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

"I'm so tired, Jon..."

She was looking up at him with dull, red-rimmed eyes. He had just dismounted a few moments before, and was walking into the Holdfast. The Keep was still asleep, but the sun was rising quickly. Everyone would be out of bed soon.

"I am going to bring you to your room so you can rest. Ser Barristan is getting Grand Maester Hyndyll. You will be feeling better soon. I promise."

She closed her eyes again and her lips thinned, undoubtedly fighting nausea. Alongside him marched four Unsullied, followed by Missandei behind him. She had been trying to catch glimpses of her queen since they had first left the Dragonpit, and he knew she was worried.

Grand Maester Hyndyll was not in the king's chambers when he arrived. He excused everyone but Missandei, and together they helped the weak queen stand and began removing her cloak.

"What is this?"

Jon looked up as the accented male voice interrupted the care of his bride. In the entrance of the room stood Prince Trystane and two Martell guards. His black hair was still wet from bathing recently, but he was dressed immaculately in the bright Dornish fashion. His guards wore no armor, but their hands were on their swords at their sides.

"Good morning, Prince Trystane. May I introduce—?"

The prince waved away Missandei's words as he stepped further into the room, coming straight for them. The two had met before, so undoubtedly he cared little for introductions.

It was a natural instinct for him to jerk Daenerys out of the prince's reaching grasp. The man's dark eyes widened, then narrowed at Jon.

"You dare? This woman is to be my wife, hand her over immediately!"

Jon's mind quickly sorted through several responses. The first one was to punch the man in the face, but the second was much more appropriate. Others were quickly dismissed as they involved copious amounts of blood.

He was reminded of his dislike of the man just by the tone of his voice.

"She's ill, Prince Trystane. I would rather not infect you, if we can prevent it."

The man's olive skin flushed with anger. "What ails her? What is wrong?"

Jon shifted her more into view, and she groaned, her bruised-looking eyelids fluttering before they opened. She stared at Trystane for a moment in confusion, and then turned to Jon and smiled faintly.

Jon looked at Prince Trystane and said, "She's been vomiting. Feeling nauseous and tired. I think—"

"She is with child?"

Jon stiffened at the prince's words. The look on Trystane's face changed from that of anger to wonder, and then happiness.

"...What?"

He suddenly couldn't think. Daenerys's smile fell from her lips when he looked down at her, and he watched as horror dawned on her face.

He let go of her.

Both she and Missandei cried out as the younger girl tried to catch her. Prince Trystane moved forward to help Daenerys off the floor, and gave Jon the dirtiest look he'd seen in some time.

"This is your queen! She is with child, and you would drop her? Guards!"

The two Dornish guards that had accompanied Trystane stepped forward, and Jon stopped them with a venomous glare. "Touch me and you'll wish you never had," he spat, and turned back to see Daenerys standing once more, and staring at him.

"Jon... it's not what you think—"

"Not what I think?" he shouted, pointing at her and then Trystane. "Did you fuck him? Are you pregnant?"

Trystane was bristling. "Your insolence—"

"My insolence?" Jon yelled, and he felt the hand of one of the Dornish guard's slap onto his shoulder. Rage filled him.

He turned, and he felt the satisfying crunch of bone under his fist. The man cried out and his hands flew to his bleeding, broken face.

The other guard grabbed him from behind, wrapping meaty limbs around his shoulders. Jon took hold of the man’s arm and flipped him over, slamming him into the marble floor, where he immediately sent his boot into his side several times. The guard curled into a ball and groaned.

"Guards! Get in here, now!"

Four Unsullied soldiers filtered into the room that had been guarding the chambers. They looked at Prince Trystane, who had called them, then at Daenerys, then Jon.

Jon turned to Daenerys. All color was drained from her face and her hand was shaking as she reached for him. "Jon, please let me explain..."

"If you think, that after being raised for nearly my entire life thinking I was a bastard, that I would call another's man's son mine, you are mistaken."

"What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?" Trystane said, glaring at him and holding Daenerys. "This is my betrothed—!"

"That is my fucking wife!" Jon yelled, slashing his hand through the air. He strode to the Dornish prince, who had no chance to defend himself as Jon grabbed him and fisted his hands in the yellow and gold fabric on his chest. "And I am your fucking king!"

He threw Trystane savagely, and he hit the ground hard. He scrambled to get up to his feet, but Jon could tell he had not taken the impact well. He looked ready to charge, but before he could, Jon motioned to the guards standing behind him. "Seize Prince Trystane," he ordered, and then turned his glare to Daenerys.

Missandei and his bride were clutching each other. He didn't even notice the shouting and struggling of Prince Trystane, and didn't flinch as the door slammed behind him. The Dornish guards on the ground were groaning miserably.

He felt no pity, nothing but anger and betrayal. After everything he had said to her, pouring his soul out to her, she had been lying to him all along. Fucking another man while he was gone, as if he were worthless. She hadn't even bothered to tell him that she had slept with him. She had hidden it, or not thought it important. Whatever her reasoning, she had betrayed him in the worst way he could imagine.

She was pregnant with another man's child.

And she had trapped him in marriage they had already consummated.

He turned and left.

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s Note** : Well, that didn’t turn out very well.

So, what do you think? Is Dany really pregnant? Does Jon have any right to be mad like he is? Do you understand where he is coming from? How do you think you would react if something like this happened to you?

Please review and tell me what you think!

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Author’s Note** : The aftermath. Thank you to Aiur for his awesome beta work.

 

Enjoy.

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Chapter Sixteen

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Jon

 

"Congratulations, Your Grace."

"My compliments, Your Grace."

"Many blessings on your marriage, Your Grace!"

"Hail to the new king!"

He had been back in King's Landing for less than one day and he was already sick of it all.

He had wanted to stay in his rooms, but Ser Barristan had advised against it. With Daenerys sick and Prince Trystane locked in his chambers, he was the only one available to rule.

It had quickly spread that he had wed the queen. Every person that had passed him would bow or curtsy and congratulate him, and he wanted to sneer in their faces.

A matter of hours had gone by when he received word that the High Sparrow was waiting for him in the Throne Room. He had just finished bathing and was dressing in his usual somber black when he was told.

He had thought of declining, but the old man unfortunately held too much power to ignore. Despite his exhaustion and the mixture of rage and depression he was feeling, he had agreed to meet the High Septon.

Ser Barristan attended him. But before they left, he was given something wrapped in a long white cloth. As he freed his sword, Ser Barristan nodded to him, and they walked to the Throne Room together.

His word at his side once more was oddly comforting.

It was the first time he had ever sat on the Iron Throne. Missandei was still with the queen, so someone else had announced him and his new title, amongst his various others. He had fought the urge to flinch as several Unsullied and Ser Barristan walked him to the platform in which the monstrous chair sat. There was no moment of awe as he sat, only irritation at the situation and having to sit on the uncomfortable eyesore.

"Your Grace," the High Sparrow said, bowing slightly. The entourage behind him also did the same. Jon nodded in his direction, not providing him with the courtesy of his own bow. The shabbily dressed man frowned, but then forced a fake smile on his wrinkled face.

"I have come upon the word that you have wed the queen. Is this true?"

The Iron Throne was hard and he swore something was poking him in the ass. He forced himself to sit still instead of squirming. "I have. What of it?"

"Did you have witnesses?"

Jon felt his annoyance grow. He fought the rising anger building within him. "Yes. Lord Tyrion and Lady Alestra Lannister, along with several of his household. We were wed in the godswood at Casterly Rock a few days ago."

There were gasps from several of the septons and septas behind the old man. The few Faith Militant that had come to guard the High Septon reached for the makeshift wooden poles they used as weapons. The Unsullied did much of the same around him.

"Wed in a godswood? With the heathen Gods of the North? Those false deities? You realize—"

"I realize that you are denouncing my marriage, in my home. You are blaspheming my gods. That is what I realize."

More gasps were heard. Crimson was crawling up the High Sparrow's neck to the top of his head, and even his slightly bald pate became mottled with it.

"Prince Jon—"

"That is King Jon now, Your High Holiness. I understand that you disagree with me and my beliefs. But I am perfectly willing to still exchange vows in a Sept, with you presiding." It left a sour taste in his mouth to say those words.

The color in the old man's face began to recede.

The High Sparrow cleared his throat and smoothed down the aged white garment he was wearing. "Of... of course, Your Grace. I would be honored. When would Her Grace be available? Today? Surely you see that we cannot allow this travesty to continue any longer..."

Jon shook his head and fought to tamp down on his resentment as he thought of his wife. "Her Grace is currently ill. I am sure in the next few days she will be capable. I will inform you whenever she is healthier. If there is nothing else, I have other matters to attend."

He stood and was followed by the guards and Ser Barristan. He caught the glare of the High Sparrow before he left, and felt a tiny smirk find its way to his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Missandei

 

"Go to him."

"He hates me."

Missandei felt herself growing frustrated with her queen, something that had rarely happened before. "The longer you wait, Your Grace, the worse it will be. King Jon is just sitting there, undoubtedly thinking terrible things, and he doesn't even know everything. Grand Maester Hyndyll confirmed you were not with child, at least tell him that."

Missandei knew that the Grand Maester had gone to see Jon right after he had examined Dany. She knew not of what was said, nor of the king’s reaction, but Jon had not come to see his wife, so she couldn't imagine the exchange being positive in nature.

Dany had been given some herbs and a broth mixture to drink, and it seemed like she had felt better within the hour. The Grand Maester had explained that she had more than likely eaten something that had not agreed with her, and would be better soon even without medicine. It was obvious she had already started feeling better, but was still exhibiting some weakness, exhaustion, and slight nausea.

"Perhaps after I rest, I will see him." Missandei watched her yawn and burrow deeply into the comfort of her bed. She stroked her queen's fine hair atop her head, and watched her sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Barristan

 

"Your Grace."

Jon didn't bother to move from his spot by the window as Ser Barristan entered his chambers. It was evening, and he noted that the king's food was sitting cold on the table. After the meeting with the High Septon, Jon had not left his chambers. He also noted that Ghost was lying next to him on the floor, silent as always.

He went to stand by the young man. He wasn't shocked at what he saw.

He had heard about what happened from various sources. The most revealing had been Missandei. He wasn't sure what he could do, but he needed to try to repair the rift between the newly married couple.

Jon's face was set in stone, but there was a tiredness there. His grey eyes were hard and distant. A muscle was jumping along his jaw, and his hands were fisted tightly in his leather gloves.

"Your Grace... if I may—"

"Have you come to plead her case as well? Just like everyone else in this godsforsaken place?"

Barristan stood silent for a moment in the wake of his king's pure, unadulterated fury, unsure of what to say. The young man was clearly miserable and angry.

"No one has sent me, Your Grace. I only come to offer counsel."

The laugh that came from the king was short but full of resentment. "Nothing you could tell me would change how I feel now."

There had been very few times in Ser Barristan's life that he had wanted to physically comfort the royal family members that he cared for, but a part of him wanted to place his hand on the boy's shoulder to let him know he was there, even if it was only for support. Nonetheless, he refrained.

"Queen Daenerys is resting. The Grand Maester said her illness is not from pregnancy, but from food contamination."

He saw Jon's lip curl just the slightest. "Supposedly." Jon was quiet for some moments before he turned to look at him. His eyes were like silver fire. "Explain to me why she lied. Why she didn't tell me she was fucking that piece of Dornish shit."

Ser Barristan could hear the hurt under the anger.

"Your Grace, I cannot pretend to know why Queen Daenerys does what she does. I am sure that there is a reason. She is young, and whether she likes to admit it or not, she is capable of making mistakes." Jon's facial expression fell, and he felt the stirrings of hope. "You were gone for over two months, my king. Daenerys was afraid you would never return, and she had a country to run and protect. I'm sure you know that the High Sparrow incited riots and they caused damage, murder, and rape. She was very angry with you, just like how you have the right to be angry with her now. But perhaps there is an explanation."

They stood together for some time, gazing out into the city. It was bright on this night. The city was calm, but he knew that the young man next to him was not, despite his outward appearance.

"What... what if she is with child?" Barristan heard, so quiet he almost did not hear it. He drew in a deep breath, and caught the pain-filled eyes of his new king.

"According to both the queen and the Grand Maester she is not. Let us pray that the Gods are on our side for once."

Jon stared at him, and Barristan could no longer stand it. Moving his hand from his sword, he placed it on Jon's shoulder as gave it a hearty squeeze. He thought for a moment the young man might crumble, but he held it together better than he thought he would.

"I don't know if I can ever forgive her."

His words gave him pause, but he knew he must speak. He hoped to impart some knowledge to the new king. "Jon, you are a king now. You must remember that you must hold yourself to a higher standard than everyone else. That you must understand and forgive more than anyone else. That the things you will go through for the rest of your life will be hard. This is just the beginning of the end. You will be tested and tried. You will see and experience things that will break your heart. You will see the most joyous occasions and be involved in many aspects of those joys. What you are going through now cannot be the worst of what you've gone through. This is just an obstacle that you must overcome. You must consider if this anger and betrayal you feel is worth feeling the rest of your life. What if she isn't with child? So she slept with her future husband. You cannot fault her for that. If she is with child...well, let's just hope that doesn't happen. Think on what I have said, Your Grace."

Jon nodded, but Selmy could tell he was having a hard time digesting what he had said. The boy was clearly exhausted.

Barristan left the king at his window, staring out into the city, as if he were looking for the answers.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

She felt much better. She had most of her strength back and the nausea and vomiting were completely gone.

Her Dothraki handmaidens were rubbing scented oils into her skin. They were speaking heatedly of the several wigs that had been brought to her room, and she wondered if there was a point in wearing one. As soon as she saw Jon, he would look at her and know she was being fake. He would see her trying to hide the proof of the consummation of their relationship, the night they had come together under dragonfire.

"I will wear no wig."

The women were quiet then. They knew she was going to see Jon, and their apprehension was almost as great as hers.

It had been three days since they had returned. She had only caught a glimpse of him walking from his room the previous day, and she had felt pain pierce through her entire body when his cold eyes are stared her down. He hadn't even bothered to stop or acknowledge her.

_I was wrong for what I did._

She knew that. She just wished she could explain to Jon that she had been wrong, and hope that he would forgive her.

Her pride no longer mattered. Her marriage did. Jon did.

She had been unsure of how to dress. She was afraid of inciting his anger by dressing temptingly. She knew he desired her and she did not want to cause further problems by distracting him. She dressed modestly instead, but in a lovely dark blue that brought out the purple of her eyes.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she cringed. She was repulsively pale.

_"Gwe_ , Khaleesi."

Rehhi, short, olive skinned, and black haired like almost all Dothraki, came to her and turned her. She was used to being touched and handled by her handmaidens, and was not in the least bit surprised as the older woman pinched her hard in the cheeks and then slapped them a bit. She was then told to bite her lips.

Dany did as she was advised. When she gazed into the mirror again, she had a pleasant glow and looked much better. She drew in a deep breath and smiled hopefully at her women before she left.

The knock on Jon's door was timid.

"Enter."

He was standing by the window. She swallowed when she saw he was bare-chested. Light was reflecting off droplets of water clinging to his skin. His feet were bare. His leather breeches clung to every curve and edge, and she had to force herself to stop staring.

She had no chance to say anything, as something plowed into her. She nearly fell as Ghost told her exactly how much he had missed her.

Jon was frowning when she was done giving affection to Ghost, who was leaning against her possessively. She bit her lip and began walking towards her husband. The direwolf refused to leave her side.

"Stay where you are."

Startled, she stopped. She was still quite far from him, nowhere near close enough to touch him. She found herself wanting to do just that.

"Jon..."

"What do you want?"

She felt her heart start racing. His tone confused her. She couldn't tell if he was angry, upset, or uncaring. It was just flat.

"Jon, I... I came here to talk," she said, lacing her fingers in front of her. He was no longer looking at her, but was finishing drying his nearly nonexistent hair with the drying cloth in his hand.

"There is nothing to talk about."

She had not expected that. Part of her had hoped for anger. Depression even. But not nonchalance.

"Jon, I want to say that I'm sorry. What I did was—"

"Wrong? Deceitful? Did you want to tell me how you lied? How you betrayed me? That your own anger was a façade, because you were the one who was really doing wrong? How long was I gone before you fucked him? A day? A week?"

She honestly couldn't remember, but knew it had been at least a fortnight. She found herself stepping forward, reaching out her hand. He caught her movement out of the corner of his eye, and the snarl he let out reminded her of Ghost.

"I said don't fucking come near me."

Frustration hit her. "I am trying to make this better, Jon! Please, just listen to me, I'm sorry! Everything I did was wrong, but I was so hurt and happy and just... it was too much when you came home. And then Drogon... my mind hasn't been straight since she laid her clutch. And you... Jon, when we..."

"When we what? Fucked? You mean when you deliberately seduced me? Was that the plan all along?"

She blinked in confusion, shaking her head. "No, what? What are you talking about? Jon, that night in the Dragonpit... it was incredible. Everything after that was amazing. Every moment was so special with you. There wasn't even a point I really thought of Trystane. It was like... you were there, and it was all I could think of. I was consumed by you—"

"You sound like a child. A child that only thinks of herself."

She sucked in her breath and took a step back. But he was right. She had been thinking only of herself. Of her desire for Jon. Of nothing else. The irresponsible actions of leaving King's Landing in the first place had proven that.

"You're right."

He looked at her when she said that. She fought the tears and instead lifted her chin. "You are right, Jon. I was only thinking of myself. But I have admitted that I was wrong. I have come to tell you that I am not with child. I want you to understand that. Prince Trystane and I were going to be wed, but you came back and everything changed. I wanted you, not him. When you came back it was like nothing else mattered."

His hands were fisted at his sides. His body was shaking, and she wanted to go to him so badly. Just hold him and beg his forgiveness. But she held herself still.

"I gave everything that I was to you. I poured every part of my soul out to you that night. You know everything about me. You are the only person that knows what I have gone through. About Ghost. About the women I loved. I confessed every fear, every pain. Everything good and bad that I have ever done. And you held me. You comforted me! You did everything I needed you to do, and then the whole time you were hiding something like this from me? How _could_ you, Daenerys?"

It was devastating seeing him like this. The pain in her chest began to spread. She stepped forward, so close to touching him, but he jerked away.

"Nearly my entire life I thought I was a bastard. I will never be Jon Targaryen. I will never be Jon Stark. I will always be Jon Snow. And you reminded me of exactly that. I will always be a worthless bastard that no one gives a fuck about. Your actions, your thoughtless actions, have proven that to me."

"Jon, please...what else could I say to make you understand?"

He stared at her, and she felt like she was seeing the eyes of a dead man.

"Nothing."

The tears came then. She felt her lip quiver, and for an instant, she thought she saw a spark of life in those eyes, but he looked away.

She didn't know how much more of her pride she could sacrifice. She had apologized, she had told him that she was wrong. Part of her wanted to give him exactly what he had given her—everything. But part of her wanted to smack him. To yell at him that he wasn't perfect and couldn't expect her to be either. He had left her alone. Abandoned her. She might have done wrong, but so had he.

_Why am I so afraid to tell him the truth?_

Ghost whined softly next to her. Jon's glare turned to the direwolf, but Ghost would not budge. She leaned against the soft white fur for a moment before she said softly, "Go to your daddy, Ghost. He needs you."

She turned to walk away. She was almost at the door when he called to her.

"Daenerys."

Hope filled her to near bursting. She whirled around, and she knew he could see it on her face.

"Inform me whenever you are certain you are without child. Until then, do not come to me again."

A sob escaped her mouth before she could slap a hand over her lips. Then she fled.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : So it looks like Jon is struggling to accept that Daenerys made mistakes. It also looks like she is not with child...but there has to be solid proof! What does everyone think?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valuable intervention...  
> Insight well needed...

**Author’s Note** : We get some Sansa insight, some lovely Tyrion intervention with Jon (finally! Everyone has been wanting some Jon and Tyrion :D) and some Dany and Jon time.

Thank you to everyone who has helped get this story over 800 comments and 200 kudos!

Thank you to Aiur, as always.

* * *

 

Chapter Seventeen

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The Lost Queen

 

He was dead.

Sansa gaped in complete shock at the body of Teb, staring wide-eyed at nothingness. His breeches were down about his feet and his manhood lay limp against his pale, lax skin.

Panic hit her as she pushed down her skirts frantically. She looked around, but they were in the woods, and no one was around.

He had been taking his payment for that day's ride in the cart when he had started coughing. Sansa had been off somewhere that was not there, thinking of Winterfell and of Jon. She could only see a blurred image of a somber boy with curly black hair and fair skin.

That was when Teb collapsed. At first she hadn't been aware. She had blinked out of her trance to turn around, only to see him still, his glassy eyes staring into the blue sky.

He had fucked her to his own death.

She covered her mouth as a nearly hysterical laugh bubbled out of her throat.

Nearby the horse and cart stood, slightly hidden in the underbrush. She looked back down at Teb, and felt sorry that his life had ended in such a way. He hadn't been a bad person, necessarily. He had just expected her to pay for what he was doing for her, however terrible it was.

How horrible of a person am I to think he was not bad for what he was asking of me? How sad have I become to think that payment in such a way is acceptable? I'm nothing but a whore... one of Petyr's prostitutes...

Her body took over at some point, for her mind was elsewhere, thinking her typical negative thoughts. She drug his body under a bush, struggling with all of her strength to move him. She searched his pockets and found a rather large pouch of coins. She stuffed it down her bodice. Everything else of value was in the cart. Not even his clothes were worth anything, nor his holey leather shoes, which she could have used to replace her own if they were in better condition. The thought of her boots made her rub her aching toes together, and they burned terribly.

At first she was going to cover him with rocks. But the ground was depressingly flat and most rocks were either too large or too small. She instead settled with covering him with fallen branches and tried to move him under the bush as far as she could.

By the time she was done, she was exhausted. She felt blood leaking down her thighs heavier than it had in some time. She could still see his body through the sticks she had covered him with, and she felt no sense of accomplishment. She felt sad that she had no way to bury this man, a man who had taken her multiple times so she could eat.

Tears leaked down her face and she shuddered as her mind thought of him heaving behind her. It was all the things that she had tried to block out, but she had subconsciously known were happening. They came rushing back to her, and she retched.

Trembling, she made her way to the swayback mare at the cart. The poor creature was old and underfed. Sansa immediately fed her from the bag of grain in the front of the cart and petted her as she tried to clear her mind.

Without Teb, she had no reason to stop any longer. Instead of a week or so, she could be back to King's Landing in a couple days, if she was able to push the poor horse.

She looked back at the bush where Teb rested. The tears returned. She had no idea if he had any family. A wife or children. He was middle-aged and graying; it was a possibility he did. They would never know what had happened to him, and that a young girl had allowed him to have sex with her again and again in order to eat. That she had left his body without burial. That she had stolen everything for which his family had worked.

She clicked the horse forward toward the nearest town, determined.

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

"You have got to be shitting me, Jon."

"I'm not."

Tyrion rubbed his forehead, so stunned that he was unable to speak. He paced about the Tower of the Hand, which was furnished with his belongings once more. They were alone, and it was late. He had just arrived earlier in the day, and had been busy dealing with emergent matters of state and readying his household, until Jon had come to him in the night—alone, hooded, and looking lost.

He had come without escort, and that immediately set off the warning bells. He had ushered him inside his chamber, where he typically did his work. Alestra was a floor above, snoring away.

Jon told him quite the story. The reasons why he had originally left King's Landing and came back. He told him of the dragon eggs, which were still a secret. He felt oddly happy that Jon trusted him with that information. Perhaps it was his fascination with the beasts, or because it was a closely guarded matter.

Tyrion had known everything that had happened with Trystane. But he hadn't been aware that Daenerys had kept that information from Jon. He had assumed that everything had been on the table, and Jon had accepted it.

"You can't be entirely mad at her, Jon. She thought you were never coming back. To be fair, I did everything in my power to prevent her from marrying that... that nice, lovely boy." Jon snorted and Tyrion chuckled. He went to a side table and poured them both large glasses of wine. Jon took his without question and threw it back, then pressed it back into his hand. Tyrion's eyebrow lifted and he grinned. "I see that tonight is not a night for wine."

He poured two smaller glasses of a significantly stronger variety. He walked back and forth to the decanters as Jon tossed three back as if they were nothing, without even a flinch. Tyrion was impressed. He did not, however, bring him another as he nursed his own. At least one of them needed to be sane. And he was not entirely sure Jon could hold his liquor.

He sat and watched the boy for a few long moments, and then asked him some random, unimportant questions, such as inquisitions about his health, before he continued the awkward discussion.

"So... as I was saying. Dany is a girl. A stupid one at that. Well, not always stupid. Sometimes stupid. She made a mistake. More than likely she was so entranced by your cock that she couldn't think straight. Let me guess. Was she moon-eyed and hanging all over you? Ravishing your unsuspecting person at every opportunity?"

The frown on Jon's face bizarrely shifted into a lopsided smile. Tyrion had to keep himself from laughing. It was apparent Jon was a lightweight, as the fiery substance was already affecting him.

"She was rather... amorous."

Tyrion pulled up a chair and handed Jon another drink. He also downed that one quickly.

He could tell this dialogue would be entertaining. The smile on Jon's face was wider now, and Tyrion chuckled.

"Was the bedding... satisfactory?" he asked, swirling his wine about his goblet. His curiosity was getting the better of him, especially after what Alestra had gone through to spy on the two.

"More than satisfactory. I couldn't get enough of her."

Tyrion nearly lobbed his wine into the air. "Then what are you doing here? Go fuck her!"

Jon groaned and his head went into his hands. "You have no idea how badly I just want to march into her room and... just... it's been over a fortnight..."

Tyrion felt his face twist into something resembling sympathy. He patted the boy's shoulder and got up to retrieve some more alcohol for his new king.

"I personally could not imagine going a fortnight without fucking my wife. I am the god of tits and wine, as you know. And you, as a young man, with a very beautiful bride... who you claim is entertaining to bed... it sounds like you are deliberately torturing yourself."

Jon's hand accepted the drink without lifting his head. Surprisingly he was still talking without slurring his words. He wondered how long that would last.

"I have no way of knowing if she is pregnant or not. Both the Grand Maester and she claim she is not, but without proof..."

Tyrion frowned, thinking for some time, and then shrugged. Jon was looking at him now. His eyes were glassy. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the situation was highly amusing for him. "I can understand your worries. Bastards need to stick together. And although you are technically no longer a bastard, you were raised as one. And you don't want to raise one yourself. But if what you say is true, with all the fucking you two did, it is possible Daenerys is pregnant not with Trystane's child... but yours."

He got up to retrieve more alcohol. Jon accepted it gladly. "The timing is almost perfect, Jon. Depending on Daenerys's cycle, she could be pregnant with your child. If she was really sick from food poisoning, right now your child could be growing in her womb, not Trystane's."

Jon's head fell back into his hands. His hair was starting to grow back, and so was his beard. His beard would be in fully within the next sennight or so, Tyrion guessed. But the hair on his head would take months to grow back into the length Jon preferred.

"I don't know what to do."

Tyrion drew in a deep breath. "There are one of two things I think you could do. One, wait to see if her moon blood comes. If it does, then take her like she has never been taken in her life. If it doesn't... hope to the gods the child looks like you."

The boy was quiet for some time before he stood. He wobbled for a moment before he righted himself. Tyrion chuckled at the obviously tipsy monarch. He knew that in a matter of minutes he would be completely drunk.

"I'm going to kill Trystane."

Tyrion stood at that. "You know that would be a stupid thing to do, Jon. Come, sit back down. You aren't thinking straight."

Jon waved him away and walked over to the table that held various liquors and wines. He grabbed a bottle and upended it into his mouth, taking several healthy swigs. Tyrion was nearly aghast but secretly impressed all the same. "Well if I can't kill him, then I'm going to go fuck my wife." He then headed towards the exit.

Tyrion stopped, shocked, and then rushed over to help Jon open the door. "I think that is a wonderful idea. Perhaps it is exactly what is needed to fix the problems between you two. A good fuck. Or several."

Jon replaced the hood on his head, smiled at him quite lopsidedly, and then disappeared down the dark winding stairs.

Tyrion hoped that he wouldn't have to deal with some sort of fallout between the two on the morrow. He had been traveling for a fortnight with an irritable and pregnant wife, who had been not been feeling well the last few days. He preferred to take a few days to right himself and then get to work.

He had a feeling it wouldn't turn out that way, however. Nothing ever did.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

She was curled up in a miserable ball in her bed when she felt warm hands on her skin. She typically slept naked, but tonight she was not.

She drew in a deep breath as she pulled herself out of sleep. The hands were growing more insistent, and she could no longer ignore them as they began pulling the bedspread away from her and a chill touched her flesh.

Her eyes fluttered open to see Jon above her. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead his lips collided with hers, much more sloppily than she would have expected.

She tasted alcohol immediately. She turned her head to the side. "Jon—"

"I need you," was all he said, and she instantly melted. It had been such a terrible two weeks... days upon days of not speaking to him. Then their horrid marriage in the Sept at the Keep. He had barely kissed her and had walked out right after. She had been alone at the reception. People were still talking, and rumors were flying. Thankfully most of the guests had left.

Ghost had been abnormally clingy with her. He acted as if he wanted nothing to do with Jon, and she tried to take comfort in the direwolf. Strangely, he was missing at her side this night, for he had taken to sleeping with her as he had when Jon had been gone.

She felt herself giving into his caresses. To his kisses. Despite his heavy-handed fumbling from his drunkenness, she moaned. He nipped at her throat and pressed his straining arousal against her thigh. She wanted so badly to feel him inside her, for him to hold her...

"I've missed youuu... sooo much."

She heard the words against her ear and closed her eyes. He was growing frustrated with the fabric of her nightgown, and she wasn't surprised when it ripped. But it did snap her out of the desire-filled haze she was in.

"Jon, stop."

He muttered something incoherent, and she grabbed his hands, which were making quick work with her nightgown.

"Jon, I said stop. Now."

He looked up. His face was confused. She knew then that he was completely intoxicated.

"Jon, not tonight. Perhaps another. You need to go to bed."

He shook his head and began peeling the lace straps from her shoulders with only the tips of his fingers. "But I want you nowwww, not laterrr."

She fought the smile that wanted to come to the surface. He almost sounded childlike.

"Jon... I'm indisposed. We... can't right now."

His lips were pressing heated kisses above the swell of her breasts and she bit her lip.

"What's... in... indis... posed?"

She giggled and pulled at his head. She found herself missing his soft curls. "I am having my moon blood."

He blinked several times. "I don't mind."

She laughed. "I do. You aren't yourself. I highly doubt if you weren't drunk that you would even be here. You need to go to sleep. Maybe we can talk in the morning?"

He gave her a crooked smile and she felt warmth blossom in her chest. Those silly smiles were so rare... it upset her that she had to see one like this.

"Can I sleep with... with you?" He had hiccupped in the middle of his sentence and it took everything in her to not burst into peels of giggles.

"Of course."

He collapsed next to her. She covered him with the furs and blankets and he was snoring within moments, his arm flung around her middle. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

His dreams were pleasant. It had been too many days since his sleep had been restful.

He drew in a deep breath and felt his lips twitch upwards. She smelled like him and the smallest hint of something floral. He snuggled into the curve of her neck, burying his nose into the spot under her chin.

It was when she stirred, her soft fingers finding his chest, that his eyes flew open.

"What are you doing in my bed?" he yelled, and she bolted upright, forcing open her eyes and looking at him blearily.

"Huh?"

"What are you doing in my bed, Daenerys? You know I said—"

"I'm not in your bed, Jon." She yawned, stretching. "You are in my bed."

The blankets had fallen from her sleepy form, and he took in the torn fabric of her nightgown. One plump breast was peeking through a tear, and panic struck him.

He leapt from the bed in his haste to get away from her. She was rubbing her eyes, trying to wake herself. He cursed when he saw that he was naked. He began searching for his clothes, and found them scattered from one end of the room to the other.

"I'm an idiot," he muttered to himself, in disbelief over the situation.

"Jon, it's fine. I'm not mad at you."

He looked at her as if she were insane. "I could care less if you're mad! I'm mad at myself! What was I thinking?"

He began yanking on his breeches, hoping he could leave within the next few seconds with what little dignity he had.

"Jon, we didn't... we didn't do anything last night, if that's what you're worried about," she said as she began throwing back the blankets to get out of the bed. He looked up and caught her eyes, unsure.

"What do you mean? We didn't have sex? Your clothes are ripped and I was naked. I don't even remember coming here..."

Her legs dangled over the edge of the bed for a second before she hopped down. And he stared.

"You were drunk. You wanted to... but I said no. Instead you fell asleep. I didn't want you to do something you would regret later..." She trailed off, the tone of her voice sad. But he didn't hear half of what she said.

"You're bleeding."

She looked down, and then gasped. Color flooded her face as she slapped her hands in front of her ripped nightgown, horrified.

Emotion flooded him. Relief. Happiness. Too many things to be named.

But even though the knowledge that she was not with child was there, it did not stop the fact that she had still not told him about Trystane.

"I'm sorry," she said, and he couldn't begin to imagine what she was sorry for, and then it hit him that she was apologizing for the blood on her clothes. When he looked up, he saw that there was an odd shimmer to her eyes, and thought that perhaps he was wrong about why she was apologizing.

"It started three days ago. But I couldn't bring myself to tell you. Every time you looked at me, I felt like you hated me. It was like a part of me died every time our eyes met. I've been so unhappy, knowing the pain I've caused you. I'm sorry," she said, and the tears spilled. He watched as several landed on the curve of her breast, which was still uncovered. He was fascinated by the trail of her tears falling down her skin, until they reached the tip of her soft pink nipple, and then fell. He blinked, and then looked up again.

She was biting her lip, and the tears were still coming. He felt bad seeing her like this, but he didn't really know what to say.

"I should have told you about Trystane. But as soon as word came that you were back in King's Landing, all I could think about was how mad at you I was. How I wanted to hate you so it didn't hurt as badly. How I missed you in the worst way. How I hadn't even really understood how badly I missed you and the mistakes I was making until I saw your face. You looked so thin, and you were filthy. Your eyes killed me. Everything felt wrong. I was destroyed and rebuilt over and over again just by looking at you."

He drew in a shaky breath at her words. "Daenerys..."

"I was coming to you that night you came back. To talk to you in private. I wanted to tell you I was sorry and ask your forgiveness. And I wanted to kill you at the same time. I was so confused. And then you weren't there. I thought you were leaving me again. And Drogon... the eggs. You... the things you said. I felt like I was breaking apart. I told you something I had never told anyone else. The only ones who had known are long dead. And you understood. No one else has ever understood what I have lost." Her sobs were loud and ugly for a few moments until she calmed enough to speak again. "When we came together, it was the most incredible moment of my life. I thought nothing could compare to the moment I walked into the fire and I became the Mother of Dragons, but you showed me otherwise."

He wanted to go to her. To hold her. But he needed to hear what she had to say. He had to know.

"I lied to you. From the beginning. You were right. What I did was the worst thing I could have done to anyone. At first I thought it wasn't a big deal. That you wouldn't even mind. But that night, in the bathing pool, when you told me everything... when you told me that you hadn't even been attracted to me until you pictured my belly swollen with your child... that's when my heart broke."

He felt confused at her words. She was practically rambling. Her hands were everywhere, trying to explain her feelings and the situations they had gone through.

"I should have told you about Trystane. But I was so caught up in you. I could only think of you. But in the end, it doesn't compare to the biggest deception of all. What I have kept hidden since I lost Drogo and Rhaego."

Fear and sickness filled him. He didn't know what could possibly be worse than what she had already told him.

"I am barren, Jon."

He stared at her. He didn't know how long he did. Thoughts flooded his mind, and he kept picturing her with that swollen belly, with his child, and everything suddenly hurt very badly.

"Are... are you sure?"

Another sob escaped her throat, and her hand covered her mouth. She nodded, and then she shook her head. "Yes. No. I don't know. A _maegi_ woman cursed me, Jon. For the crimes of my people. Of my husband. It doesn't matter. I bleed, but I bear no fruit. For the four  men I have lain with after my first husband, I have never conceived. I think the witch's words were true. 'When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.' That was the prophecy she gave me. My life is nothing but prophecies..."

She had spoken to him of several of them many moons before, and how she didn't think they were fulfilled. But she had never spoke of them again, and he had forgotten.

"It could be possible she was just trying to scare you... Daenerys, you can't give up hope to ever have children... you're so young."

She was sitting on the bed now, her face buried in her knees. She was crying uncontrollably, and he felt his chest tighten.

He went to her. Her tears soaked the bare skin of his chest. He held her as all of her tears left her body. As she cried for her lost husband and child. For all the horrors she had gone through in her lifetime, the people she'd killed and the misery and destruction she'd caused. He held her as it all came from her, until she could cry no more.

"Forgive me, Jon," she whispered, trembling against him. "I am so, so sorry. For everything. The lies and deceit. I never meant to hurt you."

He rested his cheek on top of the soft fuzz of her head. He rubbed his hand up and down her back, and he closed his eyes as he drew her tightly against him.

"I forgive you.”

 

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**Author’s Note** : Comment/review please :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is not lost...  
> Reunions, both sweet and bitter...

**Author’s Note** : Well, this chapter is where it finally happens. Sansa finally makes it to her goal...

Thank you to Aiur for beta-ing!

 

* * *

 

Chapter Eighteen

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The Lost Queen

 

The horse was dead.

She sat next to the broken cart, despondent. Once Teb had died, everything had suddenly gotten so much harder.

She had pushed the poor horse as fast as she dared into the next village. She sold everything that she could and even gave much away when she saw how needy some of the families were. She earned a few coins and bought some water and food, so she knew that she would have enough for the next few days, just in case.

With the cart lighter, filled with only a few items, food, and water, the horse had trotted along much happier. Sansa hadn't known her name, so she had called her Nyra. The old nag had snorted and neighed happily to be rid of her load, and Sansa had talked to her for hours as they moved along the King's Road, getting closer and closer to their destination.

Nyra kept up her fast trot for a good two days. Then she started moving slower. Worried, Sansa had fed her and watered her more than usual, but the horse just gave her a doleful look and trudged along. She could have walked faster than the horse was moving, but she couldn't just abandon her.

She had collapsed shortly after that. Sansa had felt tears falling down her face as she ran her hand over Nyra’s nose, trying to comfort her. The cart had twisted awkwardly and had broken a wheel when Nyra had fallen.

Nyra's eyes had closed and then she had stopped breathing. Panic-stricken, Sansa had shoved at the horse and yelled at her, begging her to wake up. Everything around her died, and she couldn't take Nyra dying too.

Now she was lying next to the corpse. She had no idea where she was—just that she was on the King's Road. The roads had improved markedly since she had left that small village, and she had killed the old horse trying to push her harder than she could handle.

"I just want to go home," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

She must have fallen asleep. She felt something nudge her side sharply, and she sat up in a panic, unsure of what was going on. All around her stood olive-skinned men in leather armor holding spears and swords. She pushed herself back against the broken cart, terror seizing inside her chest.

"What is one doing? One is blocking the King's Road. One can be fined for this."

Sansa blinked as she peered at the men around her. Their helmets made it hard to see their faces, but one thing very prominently stuck out.

The seal of House Targaryen was emblazoned on the leather of their armor, above the heart.

She closed her eyes and fought the tears that wanted to come.

_Jon..._

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

"You are lying."

The Unsullied man before him looked stunned that the Hand of the Queen would say such a thing to him.

"Putrid Flesh would not lie, Lord Hand. This one was told a girl is being held at the Gate of the Gods, claiming to be someone known as Sansa Stark."

The flurry of activity that exploded in the Tower of the Hand was instantaneous. He began barking orders and men flew into action. He gave a hastily written note to Putrid Flesh and bade him to hand it personally to King Jon, no one else. The man nodded and ran off.

Tyrion felt sweat break out on his forehead. If this was truly Sansa Stark... the implications were enormous. He thought of his wife upstairs, and knew that nothing good could come of this.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

No one believed who she was. Half of the people she talked to didn't even know the name Sansa Stark, because they were from Essos.

"Please. Prince Jon is my cousin. I am the daughter of a former Hand of the King. The Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark. I am Sansa Stark. Please, just let me see Prince Jon, he will know who I am—"

"Shut it, girl," a red-faced man in a gold cloak said. "You will never see the king. He is no longer the prince and you'd be quick to realize it."

Sansa stared in disbelief at the man, anxiety clawing at her insides. She feared that no one was listening to her and that they were just going to throw her in the dungeons for blocking the King's Road with her cart and dead horse. She had tried to explain to the men who had brought her to the Gate of the Gods who she was, but they were terribly silent. They spoke quietly to each other in another language she did not recognize, and she dreaded what was to come.

"King Jon is my cousin, his mother was my aunt, please—"

The hand that connected with her face sent her sprawling to the ground with a cry. She had finally started healing from the beatings of her husband, and she could feel blood leak from the cut that had been above her eyebrow.

"I said shut—"

"You dare hit a woman?" an angry voice yelled, and Sansa gazed up to see the gold cloak start sputtering. "My Lord Hand... t-the girl, s-she was b-being in-insolent... would not s-s-st—"

"You bastard, you never strike a woman. I care not of the reason! Guards, bring him to the Keep. He will answer to the queen."

The gold cloak continued to stutter as two men stepped forward and dragged him away.

"Oh, Sansa... my dear girl... it really is you."

And then she saw him. Tyrion. She had never been so happy to see him in her life. He dismounted from his odd saddle with a bit of help from a guard, and came to her side with his awkward gait. She realized she was still laying in the dirt, but Tyrion seemed to not care as he took her hand and gave it his best attempt at helping her up.

Tears were hovering at the surface and he was a blur. A beautiful blur.

"You... you recognize me?"

Tyrion frowned and waved to his men. They brought forth a dappled grey mare. "You were my wife, once. I could never forget your lovely hair. Even though your face has changed, and so has your figure, I can still see the girl that you once were."

She could hear in the undertone of his voice that he was angry. He could see the damage done to her face and hid his ire as well as possible. He was kind to call her lovely.

"I will bring you to Jon at once. Can you ride?"

She had not been on a horse in years. She placed her trembling hand in his, and the tears fell. "I will try."

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

"Jon, calm down. It's probably not her. It's probably some imposter claiming to be her."

Jon was a complete mess. She was sure if he had hair that it would be torn out by the roots with how much he kept grabbing at his head as he walked around furiously. He was pacing about his room like a mad man, and Ghost was acting frantic, striding alongside his master and only getting in Jon's way.

It had only been two days since he had forgiven her. It had been a tumultuous two days, but things were getting better. He was still hesitant to trust her, it was obvious. But she had done exactly what he wanted—poured her soul out to him. She had given him the biggest secret that she had ever kept.

She was careful around him, worried that if she said or did the wrong thing it would set him off and estrange him from her again. It was as if they were courting each other all over again.

If this was truly Sansa, she had miserable timing.

"What if it is?" he asked for the hundredth time. He kept fussing with his clothes and had scoffed at his lack of hair, and she had to wonder why he was worried at his appearance.

"If it is her, then a true heir to Winterfell will have been brought back to us. And we can take care of the nuisance up North that you have been neglecting."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but refrained. He went back to the ornate mirror on the wall and started picking at his clothes again. She frowned.

"What are you doing? I have never seen you act this way before."

"What if your brother came back from the dead? How would you act? Do you think you would be calm?"

She rolled her eyes. "I saw Viserys die with mine own eyes. He is dead. Crowned with gold for being a fool. But you're acting as if you are unhappy with your appearance."

His hands gripped at the black hair on his head and he tried to run his fingers through it. It was too short.

"Sansa is—was beautiful, Daenerys. She was once acclaimed to be the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms and she was eleven. She was the epitome of a lady. She was being groomed to be queen consort. I look like... I look like I am a common man in the streets of King's Landing. I do not look like a king. She will look at me and laugh."

She wanted to laugh herself. "A king can dress as he desires. Just because you are not dressed as a dandy or covered in jewels like Trystane does not mean you are not a king. Would you feel better if you wore a crown? A circlet?"

Jon despised wearing both, but he quickly disappeared into his study. She heard frustrated curses and then something crash to the floor. She drew in a deep breath. He was so nervous he couldn't even function.

"Jon, come here."

It took a moment for him to leave the study, and when he did, he was not wearing anything on his head. "I look ridiculous without hair. Tell me again what I was thinking letting those dragons burn it away."

She stood and went over to him, pulling him into her arms. She looped her hands behind his neck and drew him down so she could kiss him. "You were thinking that Drogon was laboring and that you wanted to ravish me," she said wickedly, and it brought a smile to his lips. He wrapped his arms around her and she placed her head upon his chest. The leather of his doublet was cool and she closed her eyes.

"If it is Lady Sansa, what will you do?" she asked quietly, stroking his arm.

She felt his head rest atop of hers, and she herself suddenly felt silly for her own lack of hair. She couldn't imagine this so-called perfect lady and her thoughts on her nearly bald monarchs.

"I don't know what I'll do. She's been thought dead since the death of Joffrey. They never found her. She went missing for all these years... who knows what she's been through?"

She could hear the fear in his voice. Part of her wished it was really Sansa, and part of her didn't. She was worried that the girl would bring back bad memories of all the deaths in his family.

Or perhaps it would be good for him. She pulled away to look up at him. He was paler than normal. She could see the worry in his grey eyes and she hugged him.

"It will be fine, no matter what."

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

She walked through familiar halls. Saw familiar paintings and statues. Flowers were in vases everywhere, and the Holdfast smelled of the start of spring. Of new beginnings.

She hoped.

Tyrion was walking her to the royal wing of the Red Keep, and she felt like vomiting from nervousness. What if he didn't recognize her? The passage of time was unclear, but she was sure it was years. She had been kept so secluded, she didn't even know her own age.

Tyrion dismissed the guards walking with him and the ones standing outside of the suite she remembered being Queen Cersei's. She didn't realize how badly she was trembling until he took her hands into his stubby fingers, and she looked down at him, worrying her bottom lip.

"Jon has thought you dead for a long time, Sansa. He thought everyone was dead. He has lost everything. Even though he is now king, please understand that this might be traumatic for him. He is recovering from the war still, and isn't... he isn't completely himself."

_I am not completely myself either._

"Will... will you come in? With me?" She was almost afraid to see him leave. A familiar face. Someone she knew and that had cared for her wellbeing at one time. Hopefully still cared.

Tyrion shook his head. "I think it would be best if you went in yourself. Undoubtedly Queen Daenerys will be with him. She is a good woman."

She smoothed down her dirty wool gown and tried to arrange her hair into something more acceptable. She rubbed her burning toes together anxiously. She knew she was filthy, bruised and bloody, and dressed as a peasant. She closed her eyes as Tyrion opened the door.

The light within blinded her for a moment before she blinked and her eyes adjusted. She heard the click of the door closing behind her, and she drew in a deep breath as she gazed about the opulent chamber.

The sound of someone making an odd strangled noise reached her ears, and she turned to the right from where it had come.

Tears rapidly filled her eyes and she choked on the words that wanted to come from her throat.

He didn't look the same. He was taller, his chest was broader, his shoulders wider. His face had lost its youthful roundness and somberness and held more of the sharp lines and edges that manhood typically brought. He was less lanky and had filled out considerably. She could see the muscles in his arms and legs through his dark clothing. His hair was almost all gone, but he had a beard that she remembered him trying to grow so long ago. She remembered Robb and Theon laughing at him because it had come in so funny looking. An awkward laugh escaped her, and she stepped forward, unsure of what to do, but he answered that for her.

In several long strides he had her in his arms. His hold on her was so tight it was painful, but she held on to him the same way, clutching at him with her whole being. He was shaking and so was she, and it didn't take long for them both to be crying.

The memories were so bitter and wonderful. He was stroking her tangled, grimy hair and just holding her, and she felt so safe. Truly safe. Not some misguided safe. He wasn't Joffrey who would give her nice things and then beat her when her guard was down. He wasn't Petyr pretending to be nice to get what he wanted. He wasn't some girl that was supposed to be her friend, who betrayed her for a title, power, and riches. He wasn't some old man who wanted sex for payment. He was family, and he was strong, and he would protect her. She knew he would.

"I thought everyone was dead," she heard him whisper, and she sobbed into his shoulder, hating the pain that filled her heart at the thought of her family. Thoughts that she had kept buried deep inside her for so long. Thoughts of her mother and father, Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Of Winterfell. Everything.

"I did too. I thought you died at the Wall until you came to the Eyrie."

He pulled back then. His face was flushed and his eyes were red, and she figured she looked the same as well. They both sniffled and then they laughed.

"The Eyrie? That was so many moons ago. What were you doing there?"

She drew in a deep breath, and she felt his hand touch her face. When her eyes met his, she was startled at the closeness of their height. She was less than a head shorter than him. She remembered him being nearly the same height as her when they had lived at Winterfell, even though he had been older.

His fingers probed at her skin gently, but she still flinched. "What happened to you, Sansa?" he asked softly, and she sniffed again, fighting the tears that didn't want to stop.

"I think Lady Sansa should see Grand Maester Hyndyll, Jon. I imagine she is also exhausted and starved. Perhaps we should let her rest before all the questioning."

They both turned at the feminine voice to her left. She saw Jon's face change, and knew instantly that it was his wife, Queen Daenerys.

_What I wouldn't give to have a man look at me that way._

The woman was also curiously missing her hair, but was incredibly beautiful all the same. She was short, but had an authoritative quality that showed in the way she held herself. She was dressed in a simple dark blue gown, but it was elegant in a way that still showed she was a queen.

Sansa awkwardly dipped into a curtsy and nearly fell as her ruined boot finally decided to fall apart. Jon caught her arm and looked at her with confusion, not understanding why she had lost her balance.

She lifted the hem of her soiled dress and everyone saw the sole of her boot had fallen off.

Then Jon sucked in his breath. He could see the old bruises and dried blood on what little of her leg was revealed.

"Sansa..."

She slapped down her skirt, heat rushing to her cheeks. She looked over at her queen, and saw that her stunning eyes were wide with shock.

"It's fine, I—"

"You're not fine," Jon said, his voice fierce. She cried out in surprise when he picked her up into his arms and carried her to the table by one of the small fires in the room.

"Jon, really, this isn't necessary..."

"Daenerys, tell one of the guards to fetch the Grand Maester. Sansa needs to be seen immediately."

Sansa bit her lip and watched as the small woman ran to the door in the most unladylike gesture she'd ever seen a queen make. Then she looked back at Jon, who was now kneeling in front of her. She gasped as he began removing her damaged boot, and she slapped her hands at him, trying to get him to cease.

"Jon, what are you doing? Stop!"

"Sansa, I just want to make sure you're—"

"I'm fine! Please, do not humiliate me further. You can already see my face. You can already see how ruined I am. Do not make this worse for me."

The tears were coming back again, and she tried to blink them away. But they would not listen to her silent pleas.

Jon stood, and she stared up at him, so mortified that she just wanted to hide forever. If he really saw the damage, the injuries done to the rest of her body, then... she just didn't know him well enough to know what he would do. She just couldn't bear it. Not now.

"No one will ever hurt you again," he said, and she saw the anger on his stern face. The promise in his Stark eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered brokenly, and laid her head upon his shoulder as he embraced her.

 

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 **Author’s Note** : I hope this reunion lived up to everyone’s expectations! Please let me know what you think :)

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abuse and suffering revealed...

**Author’s Note** : Well everyone, we are starting to catch up to what I have written. I’m at about chapter 25 right now, I would be a lot further along but I had to go back and butcher a TON of what I had written...so it’s been slow trying to fix it. Enjoy.

Thank you to Aiur :)

 

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Chapter Nineteen

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Jon

 

"I'm going to kill everyone who ever laid a hand on her."

He had never felt such murderous thoughts in his life as he had after Grand Maester Hyndyll came to him. Trystane didn't even come close. The middle-aged man had looked grim as he explained the condition of Sansa.

"She's been thoroughly traumatized, Your Graces. She didn't even want me to touch her. She feared my very presence. In order to properly care for her, I had one of the Dothraki handmaidens give her a small dose of milk of the poppy to make her more pliant. I was able to examine her better after that."

Jon and Dany had sat together in his chambers as they listened to the man talk. "She's been beaten. Repetitively. Very brutally. She more than likely needed stitches for some of the wounds, but thankfully they healed well. She has multiple infections. Her feet are festering with fungus and are bleeding due to the severity. A wound on her back is infected, and it might spread elsewhere if we are not careful. I drained pus from several others. It appears as if her cheekbone might have been broken about a fortnight ago. It affected her eye, but it seems to have also begun healing nicely."

Jon saw Dany give him an encouraging smile and she squeezed his gloved hand. "Is that all, Grand Maester?"

The unfortunate shake of his head nearly had him up and out of his chair. What else could there be?

"If I may be... somewhat... graphic, Your Grace," he said, gazing directly at him. He looked at Daenerys, uncertain at what he meant, but his bride waved the Grand Maester on.

"Whatever needs said, say it. Jon cares for her greatly."

The older man cleared his throat and then adjusted his multiple chain links. "Lady Sansa has been raped, many... many times. She had fallen asleep when I dared look. It is clear that a man has gotten to her, due to the presence of... well, dried fluids. Her, well," he cleared his throat again. "Her womanhood is bleeding. It is not the blood of her monthly flow. It is a bright red, indicating something serious. She may be injured internally...or miscarrying in an abnormal fashion. Her flesh... it has been torn in several places. She needs to be stitched in order for it to heal properly."

Jon stared in disbelief at the old man, so angry that he felt like he could kill the nearest thing to him. He swallowed and drew in a deep breath, fisting his hands. Then he walked over to the window, hoping distance would calm his rage.

"In your opinion, Grand Maester... is Lady Sansa going to live? Is she in danger of dying?" he heard Daenerys say quietly, and he strained his ears for the answer.

"I believe she will be fine. It will take time for her to heal and fight off the infections. She is young. There are several procedures I would like to perform for her, with your permission, of course, Your Grace."

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor indicated that Daenerys had stood. "I would prefer Lady Sansa to be subjected to as little trauma as possible. What would be the best course of action?"

Grand Maester Hyndyll was quiet, so Jon turned to see what was going on. Daenerys had gone to stand by him, and they were talking in hushed tones. He figured it had to do with something he didn't need to know about, but he shook himself of that notion. Anything having to do with Sansa was his business, whether anyone else liked it or not. He hadn't been there for her when she needed it most, and it killed him to know that for all those years in the Night's Watch, she'd been helpless. His attempts to help Arya had ended in his death. And then it had turned out to not even be her. He'd wanted to help Robb, to help his Uncle... but he'd been in the Night's Watch. Everything led back to the Night's Watch. The vows that he had once taken so seriously, except when it came to his cock and his family.

He regretted not leaving now. But he knew that if he hadn't stayed, more than likely they would all be dead and the world would be overrun by the Others. He'd played a critical role in their defeat, along with Daenerys.

Sometimes he couldn't think of positive things like that when his family was dead and the one living person was suffering horribly.

Grand Maester Hyndyll left and Daenerys returned to him. She stood by him hesitantly, twisting her fingers together as she peeked at him through her eyelashes, which had grown back.

Her caution was because of him. He'd pushed her away more than a few times in the last two days. Sometimes it would bother him so badly that she'd slept with Trystane that it was hard to look at her. The man was still ensconced in his chambers, and he received a note once or twice daily from the Unsullied guards that the prince demanded to be freed. He ignored them.

She began fidgeting more, and he couldn't help but feel the corner of his mouth tip upward. It was hard for her to keep herself distant from him when all she wanted to be was in his arms. She was very affectionate with him, when such things were not very common between royal marriages. Although there had been a mutual decision between them to marry, it had still been something they both felt was necessary. Jon knew his duty, and so did she.

He lifted his arm and she quickly inserted herself against his side. Her head rested against his chest, and she drew in a deep breath.

"I missed your smell in that fortnight we were apart," she murmured. He looked down at her and pulled her from his side to press her against the front of his body. Her eyes immediately darkened with lust, and he bent to kiss her softly.

He had not returned to her bed since the night he had been drunk. He might have forgiven her, but that didn't mean things were completely better. She knew it too, and he was thankful that she did not press him overly.

"Has Ghost been keeping you company at night? He has been missing lately in my bed," he said with amusement in his voice.

"He did initially. But the last few nights he has been missing from mine. I thought he was with you?"

Jon shook his head and bent his head once more to kiss her again. She moaned softly against his lips and clutched at the leather doublet he wore, trying to get him to apply more pressure.

"Maybe he has found a tempting morsel to keep him warm at night?" Jon said, and Daenerys's sweet laugh filled his ears.

"I am jealous," she said flirtatiously, and he grinned as she pouted. He couldn't help but nip at her plump lower lip. Her knees went weak and he held her tightly against his chest.

"Come to me tonight," he whispered, and he knew that she felt his arousal. She rubbed herself against him, eliciting a frustrated groan.

"I will. But... I'm still..."

"I know. Even if I just get to hold you. I miss holding you at night." _I miss not having bad dreams. I try to deny it, but you have no idea how much I need you..._

The way her purple eyes glowed up at him made him want to carry her to his room now.

She pulled herself from his embrace and the coldness he felt at her absence snapped him out of the fog of lust. She gave him a naughty smile and sashayed her way from his room, and he drew in a deep breath.

_Gods..._

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

Everything was fucked in the extreme.

"I don't think you understand, Jon. Sansa was... is my wife. We never had the marriage annulled. My marriage to Alestra is entirely null and void. I have impregnated her and she is carrying my bastard."

Jon and Daenerys looked at each other with shock. "She is with child?" Daenerys said, incredulous. "You never told us."

Tyrion waved her words away and went to grab himself the entire decanter of wine instead of a glass. He'd been drinking since Sansa had arrived.

"We wanted to wait. We wanted to make sure the child took root and we didn't want to worry either of you during such a tumultuous time. Now seems as good a time as any."

Jon shook his hand and Daenerys hugged him. It didn't feel forced and it was comforting.

"Well... you and Sansa never consummated the marriage, correct? Perhaps the High Sparrow will allow an annulment."

He gave Daenerys a dirty look. "That bastard hates everyone and everything. Why would he do something like that? I can just picture him now: 'No.' That is what he will say."

He caught Jon trying not to laugh at his poor humor and when Jon noticed that he saw, he bit his lip. Tyrion shook his head.

"This is the worst timing. Alestra doesn't even know... I fear telling her. She is a good woman and does not deserve this. We have no idea what Sansa has been through. It's been years. With what you've told me..."

Tyrion drank deeply and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He cared not for propriety at this point. "Whatever bastard did this to her is possibly alive. I imagine you both want the fucker dead. I want him dead. Sansa is... was, such a delicate flower. So innocent and trusting. Naïve in the extreme. I'd be perfectly willing to fly Viserion or Rhaegal to that bastard's home and roast him alive. And that doesn't even bring up the issue of the North. With Ramsey Snow... Bolton, whatever his name is, asking for permission to marry that Frey girl, it's like the biggest slap in the face to the North he could ever possibly do."

Before Jon and Daenerys had returned to King's Landing, Missandei and Ser Barristan had received a missive requesting permission for the Warden of the North to marry a Frey girl. When Tyrion had heard, he'd been stunned at the audacity of the bastard. It was clearly purposeful.

Around the time that Stannis had gone to attack Winterfell and had lost his army and his life, Roose Bolton and his pregnant Frey wife had met an untimely end. No one knew what happened, but it was assumed that Ramsey had killed them both in order to become Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount. He'd been hiding away in his castle ever since, suspiciously quiet.

"With Sansa back... you two could essentially make the decision now about if you want to return a Stark to Winterfell."

Then he groaned after several other thoughts filtered through his semi-drunk mind. "And it would be like my father's wishes come true. I'd be Lord of Winterfell."

Someone stood and walked over to him. It turned out to be Jon. He placed his hand on his shoulder and Tyrion sat up from where he had plopped his head onto his desk.

"We haven't even talked to Sansa yet. We have no idea what's going on with her, what happened, what she wants. When she awakens, I can talk with her. She will probably feel more comfortable with me than anyone."

Tyrion saw Daenerys nod, and he did in turn. "You're right, of course. Perhaps I should start drafting annulment paperwork? Do my job, at the very least."

Jon and Daenerys laughed, and he smiled, glad to see that the two were finally getting better. It made his life a lot easier to deal with royalty who weren't at each other’s throats.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

When she awoke, she had no idea where she was. The room was dim, but light was streaming in through the curtains covering the windows. A nearly dead fire smoldered in a large hearth.

A strange dark-skinned woman was sitting next to her bed in a chair, snoring obnoxiously. She looked around, heart hammering in her chest, as she tried to remember what had happened.

She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself.

_I'm safe._

Sansa sat up in bed when she noticed the woman was no longer snoring and was staring at her with her black eyes. She felt fear at the unknown woman watching her, but then she stood and left the room without even saying a word. She sat and waited, knowing she would be bringing someone back with her shortly.

It took longer than expected. She didn't know who was coming, but was honestly surprised to see Jon walk in through the doors of her room, with a tray in his hands. For being king, she was shocked that he would be available to see her.

"Your Grace," she said, dipping her head and contemplating the coverlet. He placed the tray of food in front of her, and she looked up to see him frowning. It reminded her of a much younger Jon.

"Don't call me that, Sansa. Well, at least not when we're alone. We grew up together."

He moved the tray closer to her when she showed no interest. She looked at the light fare and felt her stomach growl. She blushed, and he smiled kindly.

"I was never a good sister to you. Well, cousin now, I suppose. I always ignored you and snubbed you for being a bas—for not being's father's trueborn son."

"I was a bastard. You don't have to be afraid to say it. I was raised that way. Part of me is glad. I think I learned more that way, than I would have if Ned had been my father and Catelyn my mother. I learned the world was a cruel place and it made me stronger."

Sansa began picking at her food. Jon pulled up another chair and sat next to her by the edge of the bed. After a few moments he got up and stoked the fire and laid another log on it, then came to sit back down.

"Are you warm enough? Are you comfortable? I can get you anything you need."

She shook her head and sipped at the small glass of wine on the tray. "You've already done so much," she whispered, afraid to look at him.

"I could never do enough," he said fiercely, and she looked up, startled. "I was never there for you. For any of our family. I was at the Wall, being useless. I could have saved you, saved Robb. Arya. Anyone."

"You can't blame yourself. Father was always talking of how important the Night's Watch was. Uncle Benjen did too. You had vows—"

"Vows that were worthless in the end."

He was unhappy. She could see the regret in the way he slouched in his chair.

"You can't chastise yourself for something that happened so long ago. I'm sure you mourned each and every one of us."

When he looked at her, his eyes were sad. "I'm sorry. This isn't about me. Do you need anything? Don't say I've done too much, Sansa. I would do anything for you."

Those words hurt so badly to hear. Had she ever heard such a thing uttered to her? Had she ever had anyone care so much for her wellbeing besides her parents? Her Septa?

It had been so many years.

"Queen Daenerys's handmaidens helped me bathe and wash my hair. I already feel better. And the Grand Maester cleansed my wounds and gave me medicine. I think he is worried about me though."

The intensity of his gaze was unsettling. She picked at her food some more, hoping to distract herself.

"We are all worried about you, Sansa. You appeared out of nowhere, bloody, bruised, and beaten. Your clothes were in shreds. You looked... still look, like you've been through the Seven Hells."

She set her tray aside, no longer able to eat. Instead, she began fiddling with the long braid over her shoulder. "I have."

Jon was quiet. She couldn't look at him. She was afraid that if she did, she would just break down into tears, and she was sick of crying.

Instead, he did something even worse. He moved from his chair and sat next to her on the bed. She tried so hard not to look at his face, but she couldn't help it.

His arms opened for her and she laid her head upon his shoulder. At first she managed to stay in control, but he squeezed her and it all fell apart.

"I've been in the Eyrie for years, Jon. He kept me hidden from everyone. He wanted me for himself. I've lived in a nightmare for so long..."

"Who had you?" he asked softly, stroking her hair. "I will kill him."

She let out a hysterical laugh. "You can't."

His hand on her hair stilled. "Why? I can—"

"I killed him."

Jon pulled her away from him, and his eyes were wide. "Who, Sansa?"

"Lord Petyr Baelish. My husband."

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note** : I wonder what Jon is going to do?

Side note, found out some news over the weekend. I’m pregnant! I hope that I can pump this story out before the baby is born!


	20. Chapter 20

**Author’s Note** : Sorry!!!!! I know that everyone looks forward to my weekly updates, but I have good excuses! Between pregnancy illness, finals, work, a 3 year old, and the flu, I was about dead! Do holidays count too? Haha.

 

A longer than usual chapter, with some light-hearted fun between Jon and Dany (and some naughtiness hehe). Also some insight into the High Sparrow and the situation with Sansa.

 

****Definitions of any High Valyrian used in the chapter will be at the end****

 

 

Chapter Twenty

◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝

 

Jon

 

"She is so beautiful with her eggs."

It was late, but they had both been restless with the arrival of Sansa and the revelations she had brought with her. Once Daenerys had arrived in his room, they had dined, talked extensively, and then decided to go visit the Dragonpit.

Daenerys was just watching Drogon, admiring the magnificence of her sleek black body. Hints of red made it look like she was covered in blood when the right light hit her.

"She is starting to allow the dragon trainers and handlers come near her again. Vile Dog told me that she's also been moving around and picking fights with the other two. He thinks that she will stop brooding in a matter of days."

Daenerys laughed and moved towards her child. Viserion and Rhaegal were bickering over a piece of meat and occasional shots of fire filled the air.

"How's my girl?" Daenerys said, and he smiled as he watched her interact with the she-dragon. Drogon made a rumbling sound deep in her chest as she was given affection by her mother.

Jon stood against the wall, just watching her. She was dressed in all leather, and the way the pants clung to her legs and backside had left him more or less hard since she had changed into the outfit. Now that he knew what was under that leather, his imagination had been torturing him.

She knew it too. After she'd come back into his chambers she had been adjusting the leather bustier, making her breasts practically pop out of the covering. He'd picked her up and buried his face straight into her chest to show her how much he appreciated the view. Then he had smacked her in the arse as she walked away, grinning wickedly when she'd glared at him. The smirk that had appeared on her face right after had intrigued him, and then she had taken off at a sprint.

She'd giggled and screeched with laughter as he chased her down the halls, until he'd finally caught her. The poor guards were undoubtedly traumatized at their behavior. Quite a few courtiers had seen them as well, and he hoped it silenced many of the rumors. And possibly created some new scandalous ones.

He'd been thinking of and staring at her arse so long that he'd drifted off and didn't notice that she had moved away from Drogon until she was standing in front of him, her hands behind her back.

"I have a gift for you, my king."

His eyebrow went up. "The only gift I need is you divesting yourself of that little leather ensemble you've been tormenting me with."

She bit her lip and pink filled her cheeks. He was instantly hard again, just by watching her take her lip between her teeth. Not that it had taken much, since he'd already been halfway there. He slapped his hand over his face and groaned. It was pure agony knowing she wouldn't let him have her.

"I guess you don't want your gift then," she said, swaying back and forth, her hands still hidden behind her back.

"Of course I do. What's the occasion?"

She grinned and skipped closer to him. "Close your eyes."

He chuckled and did as he was bid. He wasn't surprised when her lips touched his, but just as he leaned forward to deepen the kiss, she moved away.

"Open your eyes."

He opened his eyes. And blinked several times.

She held an egg in her hands. It was the fourth egg Drogon had laid, nearly all white with tiny flecks of grey.

"Daenerys..."

She pressed it into his palms, and he held it against his chest in both hands. "Happy name day."

He frowned, confused, and then it dawned on him. "Tomorrow. I didn't even realize it." He looked down at the egg, in disbelief both that he was twenty and at what she was giving him. "I can't possibly accept this."

Her face grew fierce and she pressed the egg into his chest so hard it hurt even through the leather. "You can and you will. You are blood of the dragon. You are my husband. You are my king. You have just as much right to these as I do. You were meant to have one, as soon as Drogon laid them. One will be yours. And the others shall belong to your heirs."

He shook his head. "Our heirs."

Tears began filling her eyes. "Jon—"

"No. We will never stop trying. Never. You can't give up hope."

The tears escaped her eyes. She looked so vulnerable. "I know. But you know... that if I cannot..."

He sat the egg down on the ground. The dragons were calmer, and he caught all three watching them over Daenerys's shoulder.

_Little spies._

He took her into his arms, and she held onto him tightly. "Let's talk about this another time. Not now. I don't want to fight."

She nodded against his chest. He pulled her away to look at her, and helped her dry her tears. "You gave me the perfect egg, you know."

She gave him a watery smile as she joined him in wiping at her eyes with her fingers. "I do. When Drogon birthed it, I knew it would be yours. White and grey. The colors of House Stark. For your mother. For your family."

He felt a tightening sensation in his chest. He was nearly sick with happiness then. She was so incredibly thoughtful sometimes that it stunned him.

"Fly with me."

Her face transformed into the biggest smile. "Let's go."

 

**********

 

Daenerys

 

 _"Adere! Adere,_ Rhaegal!"

"No fair!" she cried, kicking the sides of Viserion and trying to urge him faster. He didn't respond with the magic that Jon seemed to be able to coax out of her dragons.

His laugh floating through the air mocked her as he surged ahead. The only hope she had was Viserion's competitive streak, because her commands were not obeyed. The dragon screeched as he beat his wings harder, and soon she was soaring next to her husband once more.

He looked over at her, a carefree grin on his face, the moon glowing behind him. He was so beautiful it took her breath away. She wanted to leap from Viserion into his arms.

Rhaegal slowed abruptly, his wings fanning out wide. She shot by him, and turned just in time to see Jon maneuver Rhaegal into several loops and flips. She could hear him giving Rhaegal muted calls, and she pulled on Viserion's reins to bring him back. Jon's shouts of exhilaration made warmth spread through her body, to the tips of her fingers and toes.

When she was close enough, she narrowed her eyes and locked her knees against Viserion's sides. _"Pālegon!"_

Viserion dove in a perfect spiral. She cried out with joy, the wind whipping in her face, as Viserion and Rhaegal met together in a whirling mass of wings. Jon hooted as they spun downwards, the dragons never touching but coming so close it was scary. She kept firm control over Viserion as the ground came closer and closer, and yelled, _"Kelītīs!"_

Both dragons let out their wingspans fully, banking hard and twisting back into the air. She felt tears made by the cold air leak from her eyes, and then she cried out with ecstasy, her heart pounding and her blood thrumming through her veins. She looked over at Jon, and saw that he was laughing.

"That was incredible!" she shouted, urging Viserion faster and higher into the air. Jon lowered himself on Rhaegal's back and did the same, and soon they were racing towards the moon.

 _"Eglikta!"_ They both yelled at their dragons, giving them the command to go higher. The beasts shrieked as their bodies heaved upwards, their wings beating powerfully. She saw Viserion look over at his brother, and she smirked, cackling as the wonderful competitiveness her child had reared its head once more.

Viserion let out a blast of fire at his brother and took off. She clutched at the saddle as she was flung backwards, and then laughed with delight as Jon and Rhaegal were left behind. "Good boy!"

Viserion screeched and she felt the air growing colder and colder the higher they went. It was becoming difficult to breathe, and she took that as her cue to stop.

Jon burst through the clouds, Rhaegal shrieking as he saw her and his brother. He snapped at Viserion in irritation, and Dany laughed as she taunted her husband.

"I won!"

"You cheated! I think you burned my eyebrows off again!"

She howled with laughter as the dragons circled each other. Moisture from the clouds coated her skin. "I still won, what are you going to do about it... husband?"

"When I get a hold of you, I'm going to spank you."

Her eyes went wide and a shiver ran down her spine. She nudged Viserion a bit closer to his hovering brother. "What if I want you to?"

She could see the effect of her words on his face. "You're going to kill me, Daenerys."

"Mmm. It will be a good death."

Then she dove.

Jon shouted and she smiled as she turned around and saw him chasing after her. Viserion was pure speed, while Rhaegal was brute strength. Rhaegal's strength was working for him in his dive, and soon Jon caught up to her with a lopsided grin on his face. He saluted and went flying by her.

"Grrr! Last one back to the Dragonpit gets spanked, Jon Targaryen!"

His taunting laughter met her ears, and she turned Viserion from his dive toward King's Landing.

 

**********

 

Jon

 

"I told you I was going to spank you."

Her eyes were wild and dark with desire. "But I won."

"It's my name day."

She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts upwards. His eyes were drawn to the movement. "Your name day doesn't actually start until the sun rises. It is known."

He yanked on one of her arms until she was against his chest. "Is it? What if it is known that my bride needs to be spanked? Because she cheats?"

She was trying not to grin. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Your bride would willingly be punished tonight, when her moon blood is over."

"Is that known?"

"It is known."

He smirked and lifted her higher into his arms so they were eye level. He locked his hands together under her bottom and she wrapped her legs around him as he carried her from the Dragonpit. "I think I can wait until the evening then. As long as you don't misbehave."

Her answering grin was mischievous. "You know that only makes me want to be even more naughty."

She pressed her lips to his, and he somehow managed not to run into a wall as he walked. He ended up stopping after a few steps as the kisses grew more heated and her hands started wandering.

"You are already being naughty," he said, his voice deep with desire as he set her down. "Do you have any idea how badly I want you?"

She was standing on the tips of her toes and kissing his neck. She made a humming sound in her throat in acknowledgement, and he closed his eyes. Why he was letting her deliberately torture him was beyond him at that point. It wasn't until he felt her fingers undoing the ties of his leather breeches that he groaned and stilled her adventurous hands.

"No, Dany. Not now. I want to wait until tonight."

"I want your cock in my mouth now. Since I don't get to spank you, then I want this."

She was already yanking down the tight leather. He didn't put up much of a fight. His need was overwhelming and he knew that if she didn't relieve him, he was going to be half-crazed with desire the entire day, waiting for her that night.

She pressed him against the wall, so that they were hidden behind a huge pillar. She was struggling with the leather and quickly grew frustrated. His cock was so hard it was next to impossible to pull it out, and she expressed that she was afraid of hurting him. He ended up having to do it for her, and when he was finally bare before her, she licked her lips.

She wasn't even touching him and he nearly spilled himself. He couldn't believe it.

She touched him lightly with her fingertips, gently caressing him. He already felt his legs growing weak. He knew this wasn't going to last very long.

"My poor husband. You have been denied for so long. I can just imagine how badly you want to be buried deep inside me."

He hissed as she took his entire length into her mouth. His hands slapped against the wall, trying to find purchase. "Oh by the gods," he said, feeling her tongue lavish the underside of his cock. Her nose was pressed against his skin, and he could feel the back of her throat.

His legs started shaking as she began moving up and down slowly, tortuously. He tried thinking of anything other than what she was doing to him, but her mouth and tongue felt too good. Val had been the only other woman to ever do this to him, but Daenerys's skill and enthusiasm with her mouth far exceeded anything Val had ever done.

He groaned loudly when her fingers wrapped tightly around him. She was moaning around his length as she took him into her mouth again and again, and just watching her and listening to her enjoy what she was doing sent him over the edge.

His fingers dug into the wall as he exploded. She took all of him into her mouth again, and he let out a choked cry, his entire body shaking as she continued to moan in delight.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath when she released him. He stared down at her on her knees, her lips bright red and glistening, and couldn't believe how carnal and sensual she looked.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said hoarsely, and he watched as the light pink hue to her cheeks deepened. He helped her stand, and they wrapped their arms around each other and kissed. More than anything he wanted to tear off her training leathers and take her right against the wall as she had just done him.

When she pulled away, her purple eyes were dark and full of yearning. "Tonight," she whispered. "I can't wait."

He kissed her one more time, a soft merge of their lips. "I'm going to make up for an entire fortnight of being without you in one night."

He felt her tremble.

"Maegor's Holdfast shall hear my screams when you do."

 

**********

 

Grand Maester Hyndyll

 

He had seen some atrocities in his life. In his sixty-two name days, he had witnessed wars, death, disease, rape, murder... anything a person could imagine. He had learned to not be as affected by what he saw, else he would never have been able to get to where he was today, the Grand Maester.

There were a few people, however, that managed to worm their way into his heart and under his skin. The young queen and her new husband were two of those people. Even though they were naïve about much of the world, they were both experienced enough to listen to him and take his advice. They honored him and his position. They made it a point to involve him in various acts of governing. He had initially feared what kind of queen Daenerys would make when the Citadel had sent him to his new role, but he quickly grew to appreciate much of what she did.

And now there was this young lady. Lady Sansa. She was the sweetest thing when she wasn't terrified. He could see that whatever she had gone through had been horrid, for the girl did not trust him or anyone, it seemed. He felt his aged heart hurt for her every time he came to check on her.

He had managed to finally get her to talk. It was clear that she did not tell him everything, but it was enough for him to surmise that she really had been brutally raped. He had explained that she needed to be treated, else any future intercourse she had could be painful. She seemed dismayed at the mere word, and he knew that thoughts of ever having relations with another person were the farthest thing from her mind.

It was the morning after her arrival. He had told her not to eat or drink after their discussion the night before, when she had agreed to let him stitch some of her tears. He told her she would not feel a single thing and would be asleep. It would be a couple weeks for her to heal completely, but she would feel better.

He had also spoken with her about possibly being with child. She had broken down into the most heart-wrenching sobs he'd ever heard. "I have already killed two of my babes. This will be my third. Do what you must. I cannot bear the thought of having his child."

He planned to dose her with a modified version of moon tea. It would, with any luck, cleanse her body if she were indeed with child. He hoped that it would stop the bleeding as well, else she might bleed herself to death. She was already very weak.

She was extremely pale when he went to her once the sun rose. Two Dothraki handmaidens that knew a majority of the Westerosi tongue had been keeping her company. They had been the two women who had helped her bathe and kept watch over her so she wasn't alone. He asked for their help and supervision while repairing the damage done to her.

She was asleep quickly. It took only a few minutes to make the tiny stitches to bring her flesh together again. He also took the time to give her a better internal exam, but could not deem if she was pregnant or not.

She slept for many hours. The concoction he had given her to cleanse her body began working shortly after dosing her. The blood thickened and became darker. He knew then that she was losing a child, and felt sadness consume him, knowing that this poor young woman had lost her third child by her rapist.

He went to report his findings to the king and queen, but discovered that they were sleeping, having stayed out much of the night. He asked the guards to inform him when they awoke.

It was early afternoon when he was summoned. He went to the chambers that King Jon resided in, for it seemed like the queen was found there more often than not. The newly wedded pair were having a small lunch, looking tired but happy. He smiled when he saw them, and bowed.

"Your Graces. I have come to inform you of Lady Sansa's condition."

King Jon quickly finished what he was eating and nodded, waving him on to continue. Queen Daenerys nibbled on a piece of fruit and watched him intently. "Please, tell us. Is she alright?"

"Lady Sansa has been in a drugged sleep since early this morning. I dosed her with a hybrid of medicines to cleanse her body. I made the repairs to her damaged flesh. She is also in the process of miscarrying a child."

The monarchs looked at each other and it seemed as if they communicated to each other without words. "Was she... far along?" Queen Daenerys asked, and he watched as his new king grasped her fingers.

"Just a matter of weeks, Your Grace. The pain and bleeding will be minimal. I am hoping that her constant bleeding will stop now that she is ridding herself of the child. I plan to keep her asleep until the process has completed, for the worst of it at least. She will be asleep for about one to two days."

It was clear that the king had some kind of emotional investment in the lady. Word had spread throughout the Keep that Lady Sansa Stark had been found, and the rumors were flying. He was thankful that no one but a select few had seen her, because her face was still bruised and cut. By his calculations, the young woman could be well enough to be out and about within a sennight at the earliest, a fortnight at the latest.

"Please keep us informed of Lady Sansa and her status," Queen Daenerys said, her face paler than usual. He was curious, but nodded, bowing his way out of the king's chambers.

 

**********

 

Tyrion

 

"Your High Holiness, this day has been blessed by the Seven. The Citadel has sent word that spring has indeed come."

Tyrion forced a smile on his face as he bowed before the High Sparrow. The man was scrubbing the floor with an old, dirty brush, paying little attention to him, but he seemed to perk up at the mention of spring.

"Yes, Lord Tyrion. Every day is a blessing of the Seven. But with the kingdom being so ravaged by this exceedingly long winter, it is truly a day to pray and beg their mercy. Perhaps you would join me at the altar?"

Tyrion's fake smile grew wider. The thought of being on his knees on the stone floor for an unknown amount of time made him want to tell the old goat to fuck himself and his gods, but he needed to get on the man's good side if he were to get any consideration for why he was there.

He nodded as the High Sparrow beckoned him to an altar of one of the Seven Gods. He knelt next to his aged frame, and became consciously aware of his smell. He apparently did not think cleanliness was important.

He paid little attention to what was being said, but did murmur appropriate responses. He'd grown up listening to septons preach about the Seven Pointed Star, so it was not hard to play along. The Sparrow did not need to know that he actually wholly hated these gods, and had found himself much more inclined to the Old Gods of late than any others.

He supposed it was his old age. Or perhaps it was the absolute insanity and improbability he had seen at the Wall as they had fought the Night's King, trying to save the Seven Kingdoms. When that horn had blown and the Wall had fallen, and they had fought for days on end to keep the wights and the Night King's army from spreading far and wide, the creatures and magic and death that had surrounded him on all sides had made him realize that the Seven Gods in the south had no presence there. Perhaps they had no presence anywhere. It was the Old Gods the wildlings had called to as their bodies were ripped asunder and hope became more and more bleak.

It had been the Old Gods that had answered Jon's desperate call. With his flaming sword raised high on the back of Drogon, his call had been answered.

He almost did not hear the High Sparrow end his prayers. He had been sucked deep into the memories of the North, when it had been so cold that mere breathing hurt.

_This old fuck has no idea of the sacrifices made by the North and its people. He thinks his New Gods are the true gods... he has no idea how wrong he is._

"I have heard that Lady Sansa has returned to King's Landing."

Tyrion grunted as he struggled to his feet. His knees and hips ached, and he knew that he would be suffering for this later.

"Yes, she has. Apparently she has been held captive for several years. She is traumatized in the extreme."

The High Sparrow was staring at him with his piercing eyes. It made him uncomfortable. "Lady Sansa is still your wife."

He drew in a deep breath, dreading this conversation. He had been preparing a speech ever since he had seen his little wife return to King's Landing. He still had not had the guts to tell Alestra. He honestly hoped he could get away with it.

"Lady Sansa is my wife, yes. But she had been separated from me for many years. Our marriage was never consummated, and we have both taken very different paths in life. She was wed against her will, truthfully. She was powerless, a pawn in a scheme. I think it would be better for both her and I to be granted an annulment."

The High Sparrow's eyes narrowed and Tyrion hoped that he wasn't fucked. "I have been informed that Lady Sansa is under treatment from the Grand Maester. Do you know what for?"

Tyrion knew exactly what it was for, and it wouldn't surprise him if the High Sparrow did as well. He wondered if he was trying to catch him in a lie. He took the safe path.

"Lady Sansa's captivity involved multiple rapes and beatings. She had been through the worst torture imaginable for years. The Grand Maester has been overseeing a miscarriage."

"Rape is a lie often told by women. In nearly every case that has come to me, the woman wantonly desired the man, but was discovered to be committing adultery and needed a way out of it. Lady Sansa is just like every other woman—a whore. She spread her legs and now regrets it, so she calls rape against an innocent man, a lord, from what I have heard. Something all too common in these troubled, godless times."

Tyrion held back his absolute rage and disbelief. He couldn't even believe what he was hearing. For a man who had once decried so many atrocities, had been a champion of the defenseless, this made almost no sense to him. What had changed? When had the Sparrow shifted so drastically in his opinions? "She had bruises and wounds covering most of her body, Your High Holiness. She could be permanently damaged. How did you hear about the lord that raped her? Only a select few know that."

Tyrion felt fear curdle in his belly at the High Sparrow's smirk. "I have little birds everywhere, Lord Tyrion."

The words were eerily familiar.

It was then that he realized the threat that the old man had hidden in his words. He was far more powerful than anyone believed.

He tried to play it off, even as his thoughts ran wild. "Is it in your esteemed opinion that Lady Sansa is a whore?"

The High Sparrow nodded. "Most women are. They are filthy, deviant creatures that lead good, unsuspecting men astray. They tempt with their bodies and lie with their mouths. They are unclean. Unless a man brings a maiden to his bed upon marriage, the woman is a whore, immoral, and evil. Time has taught me that women lean towards godlessness, despite their words or actions."

Tyrion felt his chest tighten at his speech, unable to picture Sansa as any of the things the man had just said. She was just a victim. Powerless. The old man should have seen what he did, but was so determined that Sansa was a whore that it stunned him. At what point had the old bastard become so bitter? So mistrusting?

"I see the wisdom of your words, Your High Holiness. With our marriage being unconsummated, and with the discovery of Lady Sansa's lustful ways, I request to be relieved of my marriage to her. I am a man, and as you said, unless the woman comes to my bed as pure as the Maiden, then she is unclean and will corrupt me with her evil ways. I do not want to be led astray from the Gods that have only taken care of me and mine for my lifetime."

The High Sparrow's face purpled.

_I got you, you old shit._

"Of... of course. It only seems within reason that you not be forced to stay within a corrupt marriage. I will have the council meet. You should have an answer within the day."

Tyrion bowed. His knees cracked. "Of course, Your High Holiness. Please inform me at your convenience."

He turned to leave, but stopped when the High Sparrow called out. "Lord Tyrion... I request to have Lady Sansa presented to me once she had been rid of the child. She is needed for questioning."

Tyrion nodded. "Yes, Your High Holiness. I will see that it is done."

_You will never have her. Ever._

_**********_

 

 **Author’s Note** : Jon and Dany seem to be repairing the past with some much needed fun and time alone. Sansa is getting the help she needs to start healing. And Tyrion is discovering that the High Sparrow is more of a problem than once suspected. What do you think about what the High Sparrow said to Tyrion? What happened to this paragon of the people?

Let me know! Thank you <3

 

**********

 

Definitions:

 

 _"Adere! Adere,_ Rhaegal!" (Faster! Faster, Rhaegal!)

When she was close enough, she narrowed her eyes and locked her knees against Viserion's sides. _"Pālegon!"_ (Loosely means spin/spiral)

She kept firm control over Viserion as the ground came closer and closer, and yelled, _"Kelītīs!"_ (Halt/stop)

 _"Eglikta!"_ They both yelled at their dragons, giving them the command to go higher. (Higher)


	21. Chapter 21

**Author’s Note** : This chapter is JUICY. Lots of political stuff happens with a council meeting and guess who shows up? TRYSTANE! I bet everyone missed him, eh?

Got some traitor action going on (haha), and some more juicy deliciousness between Jon and Dany!

 

Thank you to Aiur, who made me actually write the spanking scene, when I totally wasn’t going to! Hope everyone enjoys :)

 

* * *

 

Chapter Twenty One

◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝

 

Jon

 

It was his name day. He was twenty years old. And it was officially spring.

He stood on his balcony as he watched King's Landing celebrate. The bells of the Great Sept of Baelor had rung for over an hour when the white raven had come to the Keep. Grand Maester Hyndyll had run to the royal wing with the news, out of breath and red faced, but a big smile on his face.

"It is spring, Your Graces!"

He could hear the cries and joy of the people from where he stood. It was midday, for he had slept half the day away with Daenerys in his arms, resting after being out most of the night flying and cavorting.

They had quickly convened a council meeting upon the news from the Citadel.

 

* * *

 

_Shortly after discussing the beginning of the planting season within the Crownlands, they talked about Prince Trystane, still held within his chambers._

_Tyrion was all in favor of keeping him there for all eternity, and Jon forced himself not to laugh at how serious his friend was. Daenerys shot both of them a dirty look as she considered the situation._

_"Either we free him and tell him there has been a misunderstanding and hope he says all is forgiven, offer him something he cannot refuse, or go to war. We all know that the Dornish are notorious for their vengeance. He will not accept any kind of apology, unless the apology involves something huge that will benefit both him and Dorne. Any suggestions?"_

_Ser Barristan motioned and voiced his thoughts. "Dorne is wealthy enough that it will more than likely not accept bribery such as gold or jewels. You have just taken a crown from him. Dorne was preparing for their prince to be a king. Perhaps you could placate him by offering your firstborn child to Dorne. Bind Dorne to the crown once more, but do it in such a way that it takes time and can be revisited later. Trystane more than likely will not refuse the chance to have his country bound to the monarchy once again."_

_Jon stood angrily. "If you think I would ever let him have my daughter—"_

_Ser Barristan had held up his hand. "Your Grace, it does not have to be a daughter. It can be a son. Prince Trystane will need to marry soon. Dorne is lacking in heirs, just as the Targaryens are. His future children can be contractually bound to your future children, that way you can avoid the man entirely but please him all the same."_

_He grumbled and sat down, making Daenerys giggle at the scowl on his face. He disliked how flippant she was about their future children and their imminent nuptials. He himself had never put much thought into it, but now that the topic was being brought up, he realized how sad his children's lives could potentially be. Marriages being arranged before they were even born, being groomed for the throne... the list went on and on._

_"You could let him marry Lady Sansa. She is King Jon's relation. And with the annulment on its way—"_

_"Never."_

_Jon couldn't even believe Tyrion would suggest such a thing. Until what he heard next shocked him even more._

_"The High Sparrow wants Sansa for questioning. Like he did with Cersei and Margaery, no doubt. He is so sure all women are whores... he does not believe she was raped, but rather that she eagerly mated with that fucking bastard, and only called it rape because she was caught. More than likely, he knows that she killed him as well. We all know what that could mean."_

_He fisted his hands together. He was sure at that point that this council meeting was meant to piss him off. Even Daenerys had been wanted for questioning by that old shit._

_"I will never let him have Sansa. I will burn down—"_

_Daenerys had placed her hand over his gloved one, trying to calm his ire. "No one shall have her. She is a ward of the crown now. I will see that she receives care and guards at all times. She will have my best men. After everything that poor girl has gone through, it is the least we can do to protect her."_

_"I only suggested it for a poor form of protection. I would rather her married to Trystane than let that old man have her."_

_Jon almost agreed with him._

_"So, offer him our firstborn? Hope that pleases him enough not to cause a war? And then let him free?"_

_Everyone had looked at each other from around the table. Jon turned to Daenerys, who was still holding his hand. Everyone seemed to be in agreement except him. It left a sour taste in his mouth that they were planning the marriage of their first unborn child, especially to Prince Trystane's future heir._

_"This also brings up another issue. The fact that Sansa has openly admitted to murdering the Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East."_

_Jon had told Tyrion and Dany only, so that they were aware and could offer advice. Dany had been glad for it, but Jon wasn't so sure the death of a man she had personally bestowed a lordship to was a good thing. He saw many complications arising from it._

_Tyrion had been under the impression that the Vale would collapse, with no one of Arryn blood alive any longer. War could potentially break out amongst the lords as they vied for rule. That brought up the need for Daenerys to choose another man to be Lord of the Vale._

_"And what of Sansa? She has murdered now. Some still believe that she caused Joffrey's death. Now she is here, a murderess for sure, and she was never even married to this bastard. No one but this council knows what has happened to her... but if word were to get out, she could be ruined."_

_Daenerys looked displeased. "How could a woman, who was essentially captured and raped for years, be considered ruined? Everything that she was subjected to was not of her own volition! This poor girl has suffered mightily. How can you say that?"_

_Tyrion shrugged and raised his hands. "A woman's situation is always precarious. Sansa is still married to me, was captured and supposedly married to Robert Arryn, Harry Hardyng, and then Petyr, if my sources are correct. All three are now dead. Her proof is not substantial; we only have her word on what happened. Not to mention if the High Sparrow were to press the issue, undoubtedly the rest of Sansa's life would be terrible. She could never find a husband of any good bloodline. She would be lucky to have a hedge knight marry her. Then again...I doubt any Northern lords would give a shit. She is Sansa Stark, after all.”_

_"The Vale has not even sent a raven or envoy to inform us of the situation. It took quite some time for Sansa to get here. Why are they waiting?" Daenerys asked, suddenly looking concerned as to why the Vale had been silent. Something should have arrived before Sansa did._

_Tyrion stroked his chin with his fingers. "Could be that they don't want us to know. Maybe they don't know. We have so little information."_

_Jon looked about the table and saw many faces that were worried. He imagined his face was full of anger. "Sansa deserves to be taken care of. Everything bad that has happened to her was a result of Petyr Baelish. The Vale can fuck itself for all I care. Let them war with each other. Perhaps we can pick the victor to be the new lord. The Vale has been nothing but shit since I left for the Wall. They kept themselves separate from a war that could have made all the difference in the world. My family—"_

_Dany's hand squeezed his hard. He fell silent. His rage would not help things._

_"I think we should wait. Perhaps the Vale has a reason for its silence. I want them to come to us, not us to them. We wait."_

_Heads nodded around the table, and Missandei quickly scribbled down notes on the scroll before her._

_"There is something else that must be discussed. It involves the North and Lord Ramsay Bolton," Tyrion said, pushing forward the message that had arrived by raven weeks ago._

_"As I'm sure most of you are aware, Lord Ramsay is requesting permission to marry a Frey girl. Even after everything his father did, including marrying a Frey girl himself, it seems the boy has a sick sense of humor and wants to rub it in the North's nose even further that he is Lord Paramount. I personally would like to rub it in his face that there is a living Stark."_

_Jon was sure that the look on his face was malevolent. "Word will eventually reach the North that Sansa is alive. The North will willingly flock to her and raise their banners. Even though she is a woman, she is a Stark, and I'm sure that after the moons of war we went through battling the Night's King, that the entire North hates Ramsay. They already despised him for what his father did. He never sent a single man to aid the Night's Watch fight the Others. Every other ancient house in the North did, and they deserve to be rewarded for it one way or another."_

_He turned to Daenerys. Her eyes were worried, but her hand held his tightly still. He squeezed it in return for her support. "I think it is time that a Stark returned to Winterfell."_

_Everyone around the table nodded. Tyrion banged his fist on the table several times and Jon grinned at him and everyone else, glad that he had backing. He had put off dealing with the North for too long. No matter what, it would always be his home, and he couldn't stand thinking that he had abandoned it. He would show his people that he had not forgotten them here in King's Landing._

_"Lady Sansa is not of a state of mind to handle this right now, so I suggest we let her heal and enjoy a lengthy stay here at the Keep. We will hold all of this a secret until we think it is time. As far as permission to marry, perhaps we can delay it without insulting Lord Ramsay overly. Suggest a different marriage? Start a ridiculously long conversation via raven that will take up many weeks," Tyrion said, shuffling forward several pieces of parchment. "Who is an available maiden of a most notable House?"_

_Grand Maester Hyndyll immediately brought up several, but one in particular caught everyone's attention._

_"Lady Margaery is still unwed, and although her reputation is not the best, she is reportedly still a maid and of impeccable breeding. Offering to arrange a marriage between Ramsay and her could be possible with some political maneuvering. It would be best to invite her and her family to King's Landing, in order to discuss everything."_

_Most of the people at the table had never met Lady Margaery, but Tyrion had, Jon knew. He tapped his fingers on the table for several long moments before he addressed everyone. "Lady Margaery is shrewd and calculating. Her grandmother, Lady Olenna, even more so. With her father's and brother’s deaths during the riots that killed Queen Cersei, Lord Willas has taken over, and I am unsure he would allow such a thing. If another marriage is prevented for her, she may never find a husband, at least one respectable enough for her bloodline." He began writing several notes down. "Despite the rumors and mess surrounding her, the woman is kind hearted. She cares for the people. The city adored her, and if she'd had the chance, she would have made a good queen."_

_"Let's invite her to King's Landing. Perhaps she will agree to it within reason, and with proper motivation. We can reward her in other ways, if necessary," Daenerys said, and Jon nodded. Lady Margaery's reputation proceeded her, and he had heard of a beautiful woman who was kind but very smart. They would have to be careful._

_"Has anyone heard of the reports of various Northern creatures migrating south? I have heard a few City Watchmen and Kingsroad patrolmen say that direwolves have been spotted beyond the Riverlands. And apparently they weren't Ghost." Ser Barristan looked at him, as if he would have an answer. He shrugged, as he hadn't heard anything. But Ghost had been curiously disappearing for extended periods of time._

_"Planting, Trystane, Sansa, the North... what else? This meeting has gone longer than expected," Tyrion said, taking hold of a glass of wine and sipping it._

_Daenerys looked at him, and he shook his head. He knew what she wanted to speak of, but they themselves had not talked about it in any depth. Another time._

_"Drogon is nearly done brooding the eggs. They are still a secret. I prefer to keep it that way. Once we can safely remove them, we will need to find an appropriate hiding place." Daenerys looked at everyone and they nodded, musing silently at possible places to hide the eggs._

_"Also, we should arrange a formal gathering to initiate Lady Sansa back into court. We can garner support for her and the North if she is presented properly. Perhaps put some rumors to rest," Daenerys said, and Jon frowned. He felt so extremely protective of Sansa, he wasn't sure she would ever be ready for such a thing._

_Tyrion, however, agreed with Daenerys. "Sansa is highly familiar with court life. She was meant to be queen once, and learned how to talk to people and how to listen. She always had a certain innocence about her, but after living for so many years with that fuck Littlefinger, I am sure her innocence is all but gone and replaced with cunning and cleverness. She would have never made it this far without it. She could be an asset to our council. We are lacking several positions, which we can discuss at a future time, for I have a need to piss. Anything else?"_

 

* * *

 

 

The council had departed after that. It had been more productive than the ones Jon had been part of in the time before he had left King's Landing. He actually felt like they were doing something important, planning for the planting season, hoping to placate Dorne, protecting Sansa, dealing with the North, and many other small things that added up in the end.

"Look who's back."

Jon turned to see Daenerys opening the balcony door to let Ghost out to see him. He knelt and accepted the typical greeting Ghost always delivered. Smiling, he stroked Ghost's ears after he had his face licked a few times.

"Where have you been, boy? I've missed you."

Ghost was silent and stoic, as always. Jon had been so busy lately, else he would have made it a point to warg into his friend, just to see where he was running off to. During the tumultuous times between him and Daenerys, the direwolf had apparently sided with his bride and slept with her at night, completely ignoring him.

_You're still a traitor._

Ghost sat still, watching him. He stood and turned to his wife, who looked quite lovely with her flowing light blue gown. Her eyebrows were completely grown in and her hair was coming in slowly. Soon he would be able to grab her hair again.

He couldn't believe how quickly his thoughts turned lecherous just by looking at her. She seemed to have that effect on him.

"What are you staring at?" she asked peevishly, coming to stand near him. He took offense to her not going into his arms immediately and tugged her against his chest.

"You. And how enchanting you look this day."

Her lips quirked upwards. "Is that so? Tell me more, husband."

He chuckled as he leaned down and nuzzled her ear. "You smell like those sinful oils those Dothraki women are always covering you with. It makes me want to lick every bit of you."

He kissed the underside of her ear and she shivered. "I would like that," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to give him better access to her neck. He placed small kisses down her throat and back up again to her ear, where he took the soft shell in between his teeth. She gripped his leather vest and moaned weakly.

"I am still going to spank you for being naughty," he said wickedly, and the shuddering breath she let out was delightful. He felt her breasts press tightly against his stomach, and her hips pushed into his leg. He was sure she could feel how hard he was.

"Your teasing of me will be the end of you on this night, King Jon. I can no longer condone this behavior."

He felt his lips stretch into a grin despite himself. "Is that so? Are you going to take liberties with my person?"

"Many liberties. I will show you why I am queen and you are consort."

He couldn't help but laugh. Then he kissed her hard. "Perhaps I like being consort. It means I'm meant only for fucking and pleasing my wife."

She giggled and tweaked his nose with her finger. "I'm glad you understand your role. You shall begin your consorting soon."

"And spanking."

She bit her lip in that sinful way of hers. "I will see you soon, _vorsa atthirari anni."_

Jon didn't know the words, but the way she spoke them, so passionately, staring into his eyes... he felt a tingle dance along his spine.

"What did you say?" he asked softly, pulling her in closer for another kiss before she left.

_"Fire of my life."_

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

She thought it would be better if Jon were absent when she met with Trystane. He had been confined for well over a fortnight and was more than likely not in the best of moods. She had discovered from her sheepish husband that Trystane had been sending threatening notes to him, and that Jon had been pissed and uncaring enough to not inform her.

She was more irritated that no one had saw fit to enlighten her of the issue, and had instead gone to Jon.

_Now that he is king, I am going to have to fight for every scrap of power. People will see him as the figurehead when he is not. He doesn't even want to be..._

_"Perhaps I like being consort. It means I'm meant only for fucking and pleasing my wife."_

She felt her body respond to the memory of him holding her close and whispering naughty things in her ear. She could not wait for the day to come to an end. Even now the sun was lowering in the sky, and she felt impatient for this to all be over and to be in his arms.

The six guards with her stopped before the doors that belonged to Trystane. Long gone were the Dornish guards that had stood outside his chambers, for they were not to be trusted. Jon had beaten two of them quite badly, and both were still recovering. He had broken the nose and several teeth of one with just one malicious blow, and had given internal injuries to the other he had kicked in the guts numerous times.

It made a thrill course through her body. Jon was deadly and powerful, and it was clear when he was threatened how strong he actually was. The man had battled legions, wielded a sword of great power, controlled an army and dragons, and had defeated the greatest threat ever known.

Just imagining him, bare chested, sweaty, and holding his sword nearly made her miss the Unsullied soldier answering the door. The olive-skinned man gave her an odd look, and she knew she must have been flushed. She had never been so affected by just the mere thought of a man.

She entered the room and noticed that her legs were struggling to obey her will. She could feel the moisture between her thighs and knew that a man such as Trystane would be able to tell she was aroused.

She ordered the guards to remain outside. She wanted the conversation to be entirely private.

"Your Grace. How kind of you to finally see me."

She lifted her chin and tried to look as haughty as possible. "Prince Trystane. I have come to discuss your release."

He looked shocked for the barest of moments before he motioned for her to sit on one of the Dornish style chairs in his rooms. He had taken the liberty of having things brought from his lands to make him less homesick, especially because he was to be king. She had not faulted him for such a thing, and had even encouraged it. He'd even had many friends and some distant relations join him to keep him company, as well as a considerable amount of guards.

"I am assuming that our betrothal is no more. Prince—King Jon was very... hostile on your behalf," Trystane said, sitting from across her. It was obvious that the man had been miserable during his captivity. He looked thinner and his skin paler. But he was still dressed immaculately and clean, as always. She felt herself experiencing regret at her treatment of him.

"No, Trystane... our betrothal is no more. When Jon came back, I felt it best to unite our blood. It is known that Old Valyria practiced inter-family marriages to keep bloodlines pure. With our family being nearly extinct, it was the best for House Targaryen to continue that practice. It was my duty as a Targaryen queen to marry my nephew."

Prince Trystane's lip curled slightly. "I do not fault you for marrying him. I fault you for the terrible manner in which you proceeded in doing so. You disappeared and made me think that you were taking care of an important matter that could not wait. You lied to me. Your council lied to me, misled me. You have dishonored my family, my people, and me. I do not think you are aware of the implications of what you have done."

Dany stared at him, her purple eyes hard. She refused to feel threatened. "I care not. I am your queen and Jon is your king. What happened was unfortunate. I deceived both of you. I have asked for Jon's forgiveness and he has given it to me. I am here to ask for your forgiveness, and to see if we can look beyond this and into the future, for both of our families and for the Seven Kingdoms."

Prince Trystane threw back his head and laughed. She found it hard to admire him and think of him as handsome as she once had. She actually felt slightly disgusted.

"You are a truly stupid woman if you believe that I shall ever forgive this. You are a fucking whore, spreading her legs for the first man with a sizeable cock—"

"You dare—?"

"I do dare, actually. King Jon's cock must be impressive. You came in here practically panting. Your nipples were hard and clearly visible through your sheer dress. Did you just come from his chambers? How is he, dear one? Does he please you as I did? Does he make you scream, do your toes curl at the mere thought of him? Can he fuck you until you cannot breathe? I bet if I were to spread those white thighs I would find ample evidence of your—"

Daenerys stood as rage filled her. For the second time in her life, she struck a man.

Her hand flew out and connected with his face. His head jerked to the side, and when he turned back to her, his eyes were filled with anger. But he was smirking.

"There is that fire I grew to adore. In such a short period of time I felt myself forgetting about Myrcella. Then that fire left me for another. And you want forgiveness? You shall know Dorne's rage." He turned from her.

She was shaking. She wanted to kill him her fury was so great. It was so difficult to contain herself and her dignity at his words.

"My first child," she choked, and he twisted about, his face curious.

"Your first child? I am assuming you are not with child, else you would be with me right now."

"No, I am not with child. But you can have my first. My firstborn babe, whether male or female, the heir to the throne. They will be bound to Dorne. They shall be wed to your heir, your firstborn as long as the sexes are of a match. Yours, in exchange for no war or vengeance."

He was silent for quite some time, just staring at her. His hand ran through his thick black hair a few times as he contemplated her offer.

"Our heirs bound together? You would marry your heir to Dorne? For the promise of no war?"

She felt sick. The look on his face was devious. "Yes. He or she, upon their birth, will be promised to one of your future, trueborn children. At a respectable age they can wed. The contracts can be drawn up immediately."

When he came over to her, she felt repulsed. He stepped so near she could feel the heat from his body. His head dipped and she felt the tip of his nose touch the side of her neck and drift all the way from there to her ear and into the short fuzz of her hair.

"I can smell him all over you. Is he good to you, Daenerys? Answer me that, at least."

It was difficult not to shift herself away. She refused to seem weak or afraid.

"He is the fire of my life. I did not realize what I was missing until his flame burned with mine."

Trystane drew away slowly, looking down. If she was not mistaken, he was sorrowful. She refused to feel regretful any longer after the things he had said and done in this meeting.

"It shall be done. Your child, in exchange for Dorne's cooperation. Release me to my homeland, and there shall be no war."

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

"Do you like what you see, naughty husband?"

He was sure his cock was going to burst the ties of his breeches at the sight of her.

He had returned to his rooms after meeting with several visiting Meereenese dignitaries while Daenerys had been dealing with Trystane, expecting to be meeting her soon for their evening of delights. He had eaten a short but filling meal with the men from Meereen, the whole time barely able to comprehend what they were saying without looking to Missandei. It had been a combination of their poor use of the Westerosi tongue, his poor understanding of their tongue, and thinking distractedly on how he was going to ravish his bride that night.

He was sure his palms had tingled that entire meeting, with him thinking of spanking his wife and burying himself inside her wet heat. Missandei, there for translation and support, had looked at him with concern more than once. He had been grateful that his clothing was long enough to hide his arousal, for he was sure he would have insulted everyone present if they had known what condition he was in.

The few hours they had been apart had been a struggle. He had known she was talking to Trystane, and had worried up until he had met with the dignitaries. He was sure she would be able to handle the Dornishman, but worried all the same. Even as he had been walking back to the royal wing, he had seen guards and various men and women from the man's household walking around with their arms full of his things. He had not seen Trystane, however. He had known then that Trystane was leaving, and had hurried back to his rooms, hoping to talk to and prepare for his wife.

But she was already there, in his bed, dressed in some delectable confection of black lace and silk. It barely hid anything, but it had his imagination running wild. She was in one of her favorite positions—her arse facing him while she looked over her shoulder, her eyes heavy and her lip between her teeth.

He drew in a deep breath. Did he like what he saw? What kind of question was that?

He noticed his hands were shaking as they reached out to touch her. He cursed himself at his weakness, fearing that this night would end early because he was too excited.

Before he could touch her, however, she rolled away. His eyebrows lowered in confusion, his mind unable to understand why she would do such a thing. "Wha—"

"You never answered me, Jon. Do you like what you see?"

He exhaled from his nose, his shoulders dropping slightly. He lifted his long tunic, so she could see the obvious bulge in his trousers. "What do you think? Do you think this is comfortable? I've been hard for hours."

A sultry smile appeared on her face as her eyes stared at the situation in his breeches. He huffed and dropped his tunic. "I'm glad you think this is amusing," he said, reaching for her. She allowed him to take her arm, and he pulled her against him. "I think I would like to remove this little number you're wearing with my teeth. Then lick you until you scream. How does that sound?"

Her breath caught. He felt a tremor run along her spine. He didn't give her a chance to reply before he began kissing along her neck, soft and slow, his tongue gently lathing the areas where his lips had been. She went nearly limp in his hold, and he chuckled as he felt and heard her breathing grow faster.

His hands began wandering. The lace of her naughty little nightdress was so thin and delicate that he could feel her skin through the pattern of the fabric. She was soft and warm, and he could only think of his hands being full of her flesh.

Her surprised gasp nearly had him groaning. Her arse, one of the loveliest parts of her, quivered in his hold. He squeezed firmly, eliciting another gasp, as he pressed her hard against his cock. He could feel it straining, wanting to be free, and growled in her ear. "You never answered me, Daenerys. Do you want me to remove this delicious little lacy thing you're wearing with my teeth? Do you want me to lick you until you scream?"

Her head fell back and she moaned as his teeth found the sensitive skin of her throat. "Y-yes," she whispered, her hands gripping his shoulders and her nails biting through the cloth.

He dropped her. She fell back onto the bed with a wild look in her eyes, her long legs sprawled and her breasts heaving. The sight of her hard nipples straining against the black lace had him nearly tearing off his clothing in his haste to be naked and pressed against her.

"Wait," she said, when his hands went to the ties on his breeches. He looked up as she crawled over, and groaned when her seeking fingers caressed him through his trousers. He helped her pull them down, and when his cock sprang free, she immediately seized it. "Mine," she nearly snarled, her hold so firm it almost hurt. And then he was in her mouth.

His knees went weak instantly. He had to lock them to remain standing, and he took hold of her head to keep himself steady. His intentions were to just gently place his hands upon her, but the vigorous way she was tonging his cock and balls was too much. He grabbed the back of her head and shoved every bit of his cock into her mouth, until her nose was pressed against him and he could feel her throat.

He wasn't sure what he said, if he said anything meaningful at all, because it came out sounding garbled. Her hands flew to his hips and he expected her to jerk away, but instead she just balanced herself. Gasping at the feeling of being fully immersed in her wet mouth and her acceptance of his hold, he withdrew just the slightest bit, and then thrust forward.

His mind went blank. Daenerys held on as he began thrusting in and out of her mouth. He could feel her breath from her nose upon his skin, could feel her tongue on the underside of his cock, moving around sinfully.

_I'm fucking the queen of Westeros in the mouth._

He could feel pressure building inside him, and knew that he was going to explode any moment. It took everything in him to yank her off his manhood, and the sight of her face alone nearly undid him.

Her face was flushed and her lips were dark red. Saliva shined around her mouth and on her chin. He groaned and stood there, trembling.

"Mmm..." she hummed, rising to her knees to wrap her arms around him. He clutched her for a few brief moments as he tried to gather his bearings.

"I...am going to...punish you for that," he said, his voice harsh and thick. Her eyes widened at his words, and she had no chance to respond or act as he spun them around, with him sitting upon the bed and her across his lap.

"Jon—!"

Her cry ended as his palm connected with her bottom. She jolted upwards, as if she was trying to get away, and he pressed down upon her shoulders with his forearm to keep her still. His hand landed again, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sight of her arse jiggling at his touch and from her squirming around.

"Jonnnn..." she whined, still trying to free herself. He chuckled as he laid his hand upon her arse, gently caressing her skin through the lace. He could see the shadow of her cleft through it, and his hand wandered under the short skirt, raising it until her bottom was bare before him.

"Beautiful," he said softly, his fingers running over her skin before he raised his hand and connected with a smack once more. She was lying still now, and he looked down at her to see her face buried in her arms.

"Do you not like being spanked, Daenerys?" he asked, his hand smoothing over the slight hurt on her skin. Her flesh was turning pink.

"I...I don't know," she said, squirming again. Her legs were parted just the smallest bit, and it caught his attention.

He spanked her again, harder. She gasped, lurching upwards. He pressed down at her shoulders and spanked her again. And then he buried his fingers between her legs.

The strangled moan she let out had his cock hurting. He groaned as his fingers dove inside her, finding her dripping wet. His hand was instantly bathed with her fluids, and he felt her tremble fiercely as his fingers pleasured her. "Gods, Dany...I can't believe how wet you are."

She whimpered and shoved back against his fingers. His hand that had been holding her down moved to her arse, and he smacked her again while he continued to use his fingers between her legs.

"Jon! I'm...oh gods!"

His eyes widened as she began writhing on his lap. He could feel her cunt clench down on his fingers, and a gush of wetness followed. It seemed to last forever, and he couldn't help but spank her once more. Her reaction was a scream, and she bucked wildly on his thighs. His fingers were thrusting in and out of her quickly, and her moans and cries were endless. Her fluids had bathed half of his arm by the time she stopped moving, and by then, she was sobbing into the bed.

“Oh gods,” she whimpered, and Jon turned her over quickly, concerned that he had hurt her in some way. Her eyelashes were spiked with tears, and her lips were parted as she panted.

“Dany? Are you...hurt?”

Her startling violet eyes opened. The lithe way she moved as she settled upon his lap was mesmerizing. He felt entranced as she lifted the lace and silk nightie over her head, leaving her naked before him. His eyes were drawn to all of the beautiful parts of her—her lovely face, her long neck, her breasts, her softly muscled stomach, her curved hips. He hardly noticed as she told him she was fine, for in the next moment, he was sheathed inside her.

He hissed at the feeling of being enveloped in her wet heat. She threw back her head and moaned throatily, and then leaned forward to capture his lips.

“I missed having you inside me...oh...oh...Jon...you feel so good!”

“Gods...Dany, I’m not going to last long...”

Her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as she picked up the pace. He could feel her breasts brushing his chest as she bounced in his lap, and he tried to think of anything but the feeling of her. She was riding him fiercely, fast and hard, like a horse in her Dothraki _khalasar_. His hands gripped her hips, wanting to slow her down so he could last longer, but the way her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open had him losing all concentration. He felt her convulse around his cock, and everything went dark for several long moments as he cried out, following her.

He lay there, stunned, for an unknown amount of time. She was breathing harshly, at her place upon his chest. His hand found the softness of her fine, short hair, and he stroked her.

_I missed you. Despite everything...my soul doesn’t hurt as badly as it did. Perhaps I did need this, just like Tyrion said._

He shifted them to the top of the bed and pulled the blankets over them. She settled against him, her head upon his shoulder, and she closed her eyes. He watched her as she fell asleep, her breathing evening out until it was slow and quiet.

_I’m the fire of her life...she’s the fire of my soul._

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : Hope you loved this chapter...let me know what you think!

 

Dothraki definition:

 

_Vorsa atthirari anni - Fire of my life_


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strong emotions show themselves...

**Author’s Note** : Thank you as always to Aiur for his beta skills. I highly suggest checking out his work!

This chapter has Sansa and Jon delving deep into the past and some strong emotions as well.

Along with some more awesome Jon/Dany alone time ;D

 

Translations for Dothraki are at the end of the chapter.

 

* * *

 

Chapter Twenty Two

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Tyrion

 

"Thank the old gods and the new. The old bastard finally did something right."

Tyrion held in his hand the paperwork that would give him and Sansa the annulment. He had spoken to her only briefly of it the day before, and she had seemed overly quiet and distant. In his desire to not upset her, he had patted her thin hand and left, explaining that he would come to her once the papers were delivered.

"Here you are, my lady. Everything that we both wanted is here in the paperwork. Neither of us shall have claim to anything of the other’s. Just sign at the bottom."

She looked lost. The bruises on her skin were all but faded but she was excessively pale. She had just been awoken the day prior, and had been very out of sorts from whatever drugs the Grand Maester had been plying her with.

"I have nothing to give you in any case, Lord Tyrion."

He wanted very badly to tell her that she would be the Lady of Winterfell in a short time, and the second most powerful woman in Westeros, under the queen. But he did not want to cause her undue stress.

She signed the paperwork without reading it. He was slightly appalled, but as she had said, she had nothing. It probably mattered little to her at this point in her life.

"You should go out and enjoy the sun, my lady. The day is lovely. Some fresh air would do you well," he said, his concern over a woman that he had not wanted to marry higher than it had been when she was his wife. Maybe it was because he could see how broken she was. He understood broken things.

"Yes," she said faintly, and Tyrion saw Rehhi come toward her. She hissed at him in her foul language and motioned at him.

"Leave," was all she said, and Tyrion bowed and left.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

She felt so weak. The Grand Maester had told her that she had lost an abnormal amount of blood in the loss of her child, but would begin to feel better within several days after she ate and rehydrated herself, and would be completely recovered within a moon, possibly less.

She did not feel any better yet. It had been a day since she had awoken and she just wanted to sleep again.

Her lips were dry and her skin sallow. Her hair and dress were the only things that were nice about her appearance. Rehhi was constantly touching and caring for her hair, almost obsessively. Daenerys, when she had come to visit her after she had awoken, had explained that Dothraki women had a small fascination with brightly colored hair. Then she had gestured to her head and laughed. "Or what little of it you have."

Rehhi and Yeta, the two handmaidens that cared for her at all times, walked with her to the godswood. Six guards strode behind them. The Unsullied were fearsome, but she tried to keep her distress contained. They were there to protect her, not hurt her. Daenerys had told her how they were bound to her, and loved her. They would do anything she asked of them.

It really was lovely outside. She asked for privacy as she walked through the budding trees, bushes, and flowers. She was safe in the godswood and wanted to be alone. Rehhi, Yeta, and the guards left her, and she walked through a place she had not been in years.

The air was filled with the scents of spring. She drew in a deep breath, lifted her face to the sun, and just stood there. She let the warmth soak into her bones, and felt the soft wind blow her loose hair and dress about. The birds were chirping and calling to each other, and she felt like she could stay that way forever.

She felt her body relaxing. The stiffness in her limbs and muscles began to loosen as the sun bathed her with its light. It was amazing what a little bit of sun could do.

She heard something crack behind her and opened her eyes in a panic, ready to flee.

_Jon._

She placed her hand over her breast and tried to calm her rampaging heart. "Jon... you scared me."

He looked shamefaced as he lifted his boot from the branch in the path. She couldn't help but smile when she saw that sheepish look.

He was in training gear for the yards. His sword was strapped to his side but his clothes were clean and so was his face. She could only assume he had not made his way to the yards yet, but had been in the process of doing so.

"I didn't mean to frighten you. I just wanted to see how you were feeling," he said quietly, coming closer to her. When he was standing in front of her, she had to fight with herself to look him in the eye.

"I feel... better. Than what I was, at least." Jon had visited her immediately upon her awakening, and had spent several hours with her that day. But this was the first time he had seen her this day.

He was studying her features. She felt ashamed to have him looking so intently at her, and turned away. His hand shot out to stop her, and she closed her eyes as he withdrew his hand at the last moment.

"I'm sorry. I... I am not afraid of you, Jon. It's just that... so much of the last years have been filled with pain. It is hard for me to remember kindness and love."

She opened her eyes when she felt his gloved hand take hold of her bare one. The gentle touch felt foreign, but it brought back memories of a time long ago. "Let's sit under the heart tree. I have nowhere important to be."

She felt her lips curl upwards slightly. He was clearly lying, and he was aware that she knew it. His face brightened with a mischievous grin that almost seemed foreign to his face as he tucked her hand into his elbow and they walked the paths of the godswood.

They were quiet for some time as they strolled slowly, arm in arm. Until she had arrived in King's Landing, she couldn't remember ever having touched Jon in a way that wasn't more than dancing or in passing. She had been so aloof and uncaring of him because he'd been a bastard. She didn't remember ever deliberately mistreating him, but she knew that she had looked down her nose at him. It had been her mother that had influenced that behavior.

"How... how did you discover that... you were not really Jon Snow?"

He was looking off toward the huge tree in the corner of the godswood, where they were heading.

"I will always be Jon Snow, Sansa. I was raised that way. But it was discovered that my parents were really your Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen. A sorceress saw it in her flames and visions, and several things happened that led people to believe it was true. It is a very long and complicated story. I would not bother you with it."

She squeezed his arm as if she were admonishing him. "You are not bothering me. I was curious. I apologize if I offended you."

He turned to look at her as they arrived at the heart tree. He helped her sit amongst the large roots until she was nestled against the soft ground. He followed and sat near enough that he was within reaching distance.

"You didn't offend me. You can ask anything you like of me. We have so much time to make up for."

She looked down at her hands clasped together in her lap. Her dark green dress was simple but fine until others could be made. She began picking at the fabric and tried to gather courage for what she was going to say.

"I want to start off by saying that I am sorry. There are so many things I regret in my life, but the one thing that I keep coming back to is how we grew up together. Out of all of father's children, I was the most cold and uncaring toward you. You didn't deserve to be treated the way that you were."

"Sansa..."

"Mother hated you so much... and you weren't even his. You were Aunt Lyanna's. All of that hatred for nothing. I am so, so sorry, Jon."

He was quiet. She worked up the nerve to look at up, and saw that he was watching her. She glanced back down and squeezed her hands together until her nails bit into her palms.

"You were never deliberately cruel to me, Sansa. You were just distant. You ignored me for the most part. I can't ask you to apologize for something like that. You were so young."

"All the same... your childhood would have been so different if mother had known. She would have cared for you as one of her own, I know it. She would have loved you."

He made an odd noise and she saw that his head was bent and his palm was resting on his forehead. His eyes were closed. He looked... sad.

"Lady Catelyn... I can't blame her. She loved your father. My uncle. She saw me as a product of his lust and love toward another... I am sure that if she had known, it would have been different. But that is in the past, Sansa. Nothing can be done about it now."

He sagged against the huge tree and looked up through the budding green leaves, where sunlight was filtering through. She wanted to take his hand and squeeze it, show that she was there for him, but she kept her hand in her lap.

She didn't know where it came from. Perhaps it was from all the memories they were dredging up, or the silence that was dragging on. But it came pouring out of her without thought.

"Do you remember the time that Shaggydog stuck his nose into Rickon's trousers and grabbed his smallclothes? And dragged him about the Great Hall?"

Jon turned to her, his mouth dropping open with surprise, before he began laughing. She smiled and began giggling as she listened to his deep, throaty laugh.

"And Shaggydog ripped them clear off? He ran around with them in his mouth as if they were a prize. Rickon chased after him with his arse hanging out and his breeches about his ankles."

They both started laughing again. She felt her stomach ache and tears prick her eyes, but they were happy tears.

"What about that time Arya got so mad at how flawlessly you stitched, and sewed all of the arms closed on your dresses? I remember you screaming so loudly that half the castle came to your room to see you struggling to get your hands through the sleeves!"

She gasped for air even as her face turned red. "I was so humiliated! Father made Arya fix them all and half of them were ruined! I got her back though!"

Jon held his stomach as he fought to breathe just as she was. "What? Perfect Lady Sansa got her sister back? What did you do?"

She felt a devious smile touch her lips. "I stole all of her boy's clothes and threw them in an old well!"

The look of disbelief on Jon's face turned into more laughter. "Is that why half the castle was up in arms about a clothing thief? You stole from Arya and she was stealing from the boys to get them back!"

She felt warmth and happiness spread through her as Jon wiped tears from his eyes. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were so bright. It was so nice to see the once somber boy laughing in such a way.

"Do you recall when Bran climbed up the rafters in the Great Hall? And then couldn't get down? He cried for so long!"

Her face hurt from laughing. "Oh, and he had to make water so bad that father told him to just go? He held it all the way until they got him down and then wet himself!"

It felt so wonderful to laugh so much. It had been so long.

"What of that one time Theon was caught with two girls in his room?"

Sansa's eyes went wide. "They tried to hide that from me because I was so young! But Arya and I saw most of it! Father beat him soundly! We giggled so much!"

Jon chuckled and pointed at her. "I remember when Arya threw food at you at the banquet honoring King Robert and Queen Cersei. You looked like you wanted to die. Everyone laughed at you."

She narrowed her eyes and huffed as she slapped at his pointing fingers. "I remember the time Robb tripped you in the yard and you landed in that huge pile of horse shit!"

She wasn't sure what was more shocking for him, the fact that she had sworn or that she had actually witnessed that. "You saw that happen? All those girls were there too, snickering at me. I wanted to crawl under that horse shit and disappear."

Oh gods, it hurt so much to laugh this much. She kept picturing how red his face had been as he had jumped up out of the pile of manure and tried to act as if it hadn't happened. Robb had nearly fallen over from laughing so hard. Even father had laughed.

When they went quiet, she looked at him. They both smiled at the same time and then let out a small laugh. She felt filled with an energy she hadn't experienced in forever. The corners of her eyes crinkled again as she continued to watch him.

"I needed this. Thank you, Jon."

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

"I want you to meet someone, Sansa."

She looked nervous, but her pallor had already improved markedly since he had first seen her in the godswood.

He had been on his way to the yards for some much needed practice, but had been sidetracked by the news that she had left her chambers. He was always kept aware of Sansa's activities, but this was the first time she had actually left her chambers, so he went to find her.

They had ended up spending most of the afternoon talking under the heart tree. She had been so carefree in those moments that it had been difficult to go back. He wouldn't have suggested leaving at all if he hadn't seen how tired she was getting. He had asked her if she was hungry and they had both gotten a laugh out of her stomach protesting that she was. The way her face turned pink had been so charming.

"Jon," she said, a slight whine to her voice that he found endearing. "My face... I still look—"

"You look lovely. He won't mind. Trust me."

The guards and handmaidens trekked behind them, silent as always. It was easy to pretend they weren't there sometimes. He pressed at her shoulders as he walked behind her. She was shuffling her feet in her nervousness.

He could feel the thinness of her frame when his hands touched her back. He frowned and pushed her forward toward his door, until they were opened by the two guards standing outside. He dismissed the handmaidens, and they entered his chambers.

He saw Ghost before she did. Her gasp ended with her hand flying to her mouth, and she turned to him, wonder and tears in her round blue eyes. He smiled.

"Oh, Jon. He is magnificent."

He pressed her forward again with a small shove. She took several steps before she turned back to him. "May I...?"

"I don't even know why you're asking, Sansa," he said with amusement. Ghost was sitting by the table at which he and Daenerys typically ate their meals, his tail wagging just the slightest bit, as if he were trying to hide his excitement.

Sansa went to the direwolf without an ounce of fear. Ghost stood as soon as she came near him, his tail beginning to move so fast his behind was wiggling.

He was surprised at the level of emotion he felt as he watched Sansa bury her face into Ghost's fur. The direwolf dug his nose through her windblown hair, sniffing her and remembering her scent undoubtedly.

She held Ghost silently for a long time. Jon felt his throat tighten as he watched them.

When Sansa finally parted from Ghost, her face was damp. She ran her fingers through his fur and over his ears, and his friend sat there, as calm as ever, accepting her loving touch. He walked toward them and joined her.

She sniffed. Even with her so tearful, she looked beautiful. Her healing wounds and faded bruises didn't even matter.

"I thought all of them were gone. Lady... she was the first to go. Because I couldn't tell the truth. I lost her because I was a stupid girl. I am so stupid, Jon. Everything is my fault."

She was hurting. He gathered her into his arms and she pressed her sobbing face into his shoulder. Her hands clutched at his arms and he felt her sharp nails jab into his skin through his undershirt.

"We have all made mistakes, Sansa. You can't fault yourself for everything bad that has ever happened to you." He pulled her away from him and looked at her. She refused to meet his eyes. "You will get better. You will be stronger. I will never let anything bad happen to you ever again, do you understand?"

The tears just kept coming. He felt anger flood him, but it wasn't at her. It was at the world and everything and everyone that had ever hurt her. His fingers gripped her arms and he shook her. Her watery eyes finally met his. "I will do anything to keep you safe, Sansa. Whatever you need, it will be yours. You are no longer helpless. You are my family, the family of the king of Westeros. I will protect you with everything in my power. Do you understand that, Sansa?"

Her vivid azure eyes were huge and startled. Her long, dark eyelashes were wet. "How can I ever feel safe again... after what he did to me?"

Her voice and words shattered him. He felt his entire being ache as the look on her face crumbled and her legs weakened. His hold on her arms tightened. Ghost whined beside them as she broke apart and wailed, her legs giving out.

He fell with her to the floor and held her as she cried. He rocked her back and forth and tried to comfort her with meaningless words. He felt as if nothing was helping the hysterical weeping coming from her, and her body was shaking so badly he swore she was going to come completely undone.

"Everything he did... led to this, Jon. To me." She sobbed between the words. "The manipulation...the beatings, the torture, the denial. Starvation. Raping me again and again and again... killing me slowly... every single time. I don’t even know who I am anymore. How can you stand to even look at me, after what he did? How can you...?"

He wanted to die he was hurting so badly for her. Her brokenness was hidden so well behind that lovely façade that it was easy to forget what had happened to her. To see her standing in the sunlight, her hair looking like fire, with a smile on her face... a person would have no idea of the horrors that had been dealt to her.

He clasped her face between his hands. Her eyes were red and her skin was as well. She was trying not to weep and he had to swallow hard to keep himself together.

"It never came down to how I can stand to look at you, Sansa. Even though I know what he did to you, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because you're alive and here. And you'll get better, just like I said. One day at a time. You're strong. I know you are, because you lived. You killed him and escaped. That takes courage. You can't see it in you, but I can. That's what I see when I look at you."

He didn't know what else to say to make her understand. When he looked at her, he didn't see a woman that had been raped and beaten and nearly killed. He saw a beautiful young lady who carried a burden, but with the ability to overcome that burden.

"When did you become so eloquent?"

He nearly laughed but held it in at the last moment. Instead he smiled faintly, and he felt the lump in his throat return. "When I found out life was worth living, Sansa. When I realized I could no longer be that pathetic, depressed boy who thought life was nothing but a jest. When I learned I hadn't lost everyone...and the Lady of Winterfell came home and brought back hope for the North."

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

"A raven has arrived from the Reach. Lady Margaery is on her way to King's Landing."

"Did Tyrion already reply to the one sent from Winterfell?" Jon asked as he pulled off his gloves. His clothing was becoming sparser by the second, and she was having a hard time concentrating on his words.

"Yes, several days ago. I believe on the very day you punished me for being the naughty queen I am. Your name day."

He turned toward her and her eyes went straight down. She could see the outline of his hard cock in his leather breeches.

"I can't even get undressed with you around. I think you are naturally depraved, woman."

She giggled and crawled across his bed until she was lying on her stomach and her head was resting in her hand. She quirked her finger at him and he came near enough for her to hook her fingers into the top of his breeches and pull him the rest of the way to her.

"I can show you just how depraved I really am..."

A naughty smile appeared on her lips as she began pulling down his breeches. He stood in a trance, just watching her, and her smile grew.

When they were about his knees, his cock hovering near her face, she looked up at him to see him watching her with hooded eyes. The thrill of desire she felt from just the way he looked at her was immense.

"Would you like for me to take care of this?" she murmured, trailing her fingers up and down the length of his manhood. She could see his eyes darken at her words, and she licked her lips.

"I love the feeling of you in my mouth. I love the way you taste. I don't think I ever loved sucking cock until you came along."

A deep flush rose from his chest to his cheeks. She rubbed the side of her face along his length, caressing it with her soft skin. His hands curled around the back of her head through her short hair, and she kissed the tip of his manhood.

"I'm not very experienced when it comes to women... but every time your lips come near my cock I think I might expire."

She giggled and twirled her tongue slowly around him. His grip tightened on her head, but his fingers were unable to find purchase in her hair quite yet. She hummed with amusement, her tongue still lavishing his length.

Then she grabbed his hips, turned him around, and smacked him straight on his bare arse.

"Dany!"

She flew into a fit of giggles and did it again, thoroughly enjoying the sound of her hand landing with a smack on his behind. His arse was ridiculously attractive for a man, and she bit her lip as she caressed the red spots she had left from her delightful attack.

He looked at her over his shoulder before he turned around, a determined look in his eye as he began yanking off his boots and breeches. She rolled over to flee, and shrieked when he grabbed her ankle, pulling her back. She kicked out, making him lose his grip as he was having a difficult time divesting himself of the breeches about his ankles.

She was nearly across the huge bed when she heard his growl behind her. She cried out as she felt the bed shake and his hands once more found her ankles. She looked over her shoulder and saw him grinning wickedly, completely naked, and pulling her toward him.

Her gown slid up and up until it bunched at her waist, leaving her bare before his eyes.

"No smallclothes, Your Grace?" he asked, and she watched him as his hands stroked the plump flesh of her bottom. She shook her head, and he chuckled.

"Do you often go naked under your gowns?"

She felt heat fill her cheeks. "Not until I married you."

His hands were lifting her hips, and soon she was kneeling on the bed, her head cushioned in her arms. She could no longer see him, but she could feel his fingers gently delving until they were deep inside her. She moaned into the red velvet coverlet.

"You're always so ready for me, aren't you? Sometimes I swear I look at you and see you practically explode."

She gasped as his fingers touched her swollen bud. Her legs began shaking. His words made her hot all over. "I have never wanted a man as much as I do you... there is something about you that drives me wild."

His sound of amusement was followed by the loss of his fingers. She whimpered in disappointment, but then cried out as she felt him bury his entire face in her core. His tongue lapped at her softly before it pressed harder, and she moaned incoherently at the sensation. The man barely had to try and he had her coming undone. She swore that she was in a constant state of arousal with him around. All she had to do was see him looking at her a certain way and her legs went weak. She would feel heat pool low in her belly and her heart would pound. Just his mere gaze had her picturing him bending her over and fucking her with wild abandon. There was just something about the way his body fit hers, the way his cock felt inside her, his words of desire, and the sounds he made as she pleasured him. Every moment of being with him in such a way made it hard for her to live a normal, functioning life outside of the bedroom.

She hoped it stayed that way forever.

Her hands clawed at the bed. She could feel her entire body shaking. His tongue was incredible... soft, yet firm. Then the circling motion of his tongue changed into a hard flicking, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she screamed hoarsely, her body shattering so powerfully that it felt like it never wanted to end.

She was panting desperately for air when Jon flipped her over. Her eyes were watering, and she looked down to see his cock incredibly hard and waiting for her.

She sat up and jumped into his arms. He caught her and their tongues melded together fiercely. His face was covered in her desire, and she could taste herself. She moaned, tilting her head back to give him access to her throat.

His teeth were sharp upon her skin, and she shuddered at the sensation.

"I am going to fuck you until you can't breathe, Daenerys Targaryen."

_Yes!_

Her nails dug sharply into his shoulders as he picked her up and then made her stand on the soft carpeting before the low-burning fire. He turned her around and shoved her head down, until she was bent over, her arse in the air.

He wasted no time. She cried out with both relief and need as he filled her. She lifted herself on the tips of her toes and held herself up by her hands as he took her at the brutal pace she wanted. She swore at herself and her short height, but Jon's strength compensated for it as he lifted her with no hesitation from the floor by her hips.

She didn't expect to peak so suddenly and quickly. His cock was so deep and was hitting just the right spot, and she was crying his name only after a few moments of him being inside her. Her arms trembled to hold her weight, and she vaguely heard him cursing at her. It wasn't until she could breathe again that she heard his words.

"...how can you expect me to last very long with the way you explode all over my cock...gods, Daenerys!"

She bit her lip at his heated words, and honestly expected him to finish, but he stilled, the hold on her hips loosening so she yet again felt the floor. She heard him draw in several deep breaths, and she tried to look over her shoulder, but could only catch part of his face.

"Don't move, woman."

Her toes curled in the soft fibers of the carpet. His voice was so deep and full of passion.

Wickedly, she pressed back against him, grinding against his cock. His fingers dug into her skin and he groaned.

"You don't listen very well," he said, and she laughed impishly as she did it again. He swore and jerked out of her, and she nearly fell forward. He caught her just in time, but it wasn't gentle. She gasped as he picked her up in his arms and she had only a moment to see his face before she was thrown through the air and onto the bed.

She landed with an inelegant grunt, but her heart was pounding and her core was thrumming with need to have him inside her once more.

She spread her legs wide, breathing hard as she watched him standing before the fire, his chest heaving.

"You are beautiful," she whispered, her lips parting at the sight of him. "Come here."

He walked over to the edge of the bed, where she quickly moved to meet him. Her hands glided over the muscles of his stomach, and she smiled when they clenched under her delicate touch.

"I want you in my mouth right now," she said, and he groaned as she did just that. He was so hard against her tongue that she moaned, and she felt his body tremble.

"You... are seriously... testing... my endurance."

It was difficult not to grin, so she buried his full length into her mouth to stifle the urge.

"Fuuuuuck!" he yelled, and his hand grabbed the back of her head, pushing himself even deeper. She fought the urge to gag, and she placed her hand on his hip for balance. Her other hand cupped his stones, and he jerked, groaning loudly, before he abruptly released her and pulled himself from her mouth.

She looked up at him, not understanding, but overwhelmed at the sight of his dark eyes and hard body.

"I swear you torture me on purpose."

She bit her lip as he drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Jon... I want you inside me again...do not make me wait any longer, _vorsa atthirari anni_."

His response made her tremble. He clenched his hands, and then pushed her down until she was lying on her back. He pulled her by her hips toward the edge of the bed, and then lifted her legs in the air. She placed her ankles on his shoulders, and then she watched him take hold of his cock and place it at her entrance. She bucked toward him, wanting him inside her desperately.

His hard thrust made her throw her head back and moan loudly. Her thighs began quivering only after a short time, and she looked up at him, overwhelmed by the passion he evoked within her with almost no effort. Then she was screaming.

"Fuck... Daenerys... godsdammit...!"

He tensed against her legs. He shuddered and groaned, and she felt his essence fill her. She closed her eyes and prayed.

She flinched when he left her. It wasn't from pain, but rather the unexpected chill in the room as his body left hers.

She scooted back onto the mussed bed. She realized belatedly that she was still wearing her dress and snickered.

"What?" he said, nestling against her under the blankets. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and she smiled as she placed her hand on his chest, which was still rising and falling rapidly.

"I am still clothed."

He chuckled softly and turned toward her. She rolled onto her side as well, wanting to see him.

"If you had been fully naked, I doubt anything would have been accomplished."

She giggled and traced his eyebrows with her fingertips. They were fully grown in, as was his beard. His hair was longer than hers, and she ran her fingers through that as well. Soon she would be able to grab onto it again.

He shocked her when he started pressing kisses onto her neck and shoulders, and then her lips. When he rose above her, she thought that he might have her again, but instead he stared down at her, his fingers stroking through the short tufts of her hair.

He gazed at her for quite some time. His eyes touched all of the features of her face, and then he leaned down to caress her lips with his once more.

He stopped before their mouths melded. His lips brushed over hers softly as he whispered, _"Aqqisat oakah anni."_

Euphoria engulfed her. _"Vorsa atthirari anni_... how do you know these words?"

His fingers were still trailing through her short hair. He had a soft smile on his lips. "Rehhi. I asked her to teach me the words. And some others. I've been spending time with Sansa, and that woman is always with her."

Dany pulled him down to kiss him. It was slow and deep, and she unconsciously spread her legs to let him settle there. She didn't notice until his warm fingers touched her hip, and then his hand shifted her leg to wrap around him.

He was hard against her. "You do things to me, _Khaleesi."_

She clung to him as he guided himself into her slowly, making her gasp. _"Athhilezar anna, Khal anni. Vorsa atthirari anni..."_

_"Ai, aqqisat oakah anni... Khaleesi anni..."_

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note** : Hope everyone enjoyed the yummy Jon/Dany-ness :P

 

**Translation for Dothraki** :

He stopped before their mouths melded. His lips brushed over hers softly as he whispered, _"Aqqisat oakah anni." (Keeper of my soul)_

_Vorsa atthirari anni – Fire of my life_

She clung to him as he guided himself into her slowly, making her gasp. _"Athhilezar anna, Khal anni. Vorsa atthirari anni..." (“Make love to me, my Khal. Fire of my life...”)_

_"Ai, aqqisat oakah anni... Khaleesi anni...” (“Yes, keeper of my soul... my Khaleesi...”)_

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings and memories abound...

**Author’s Note** : This chapter is entirely all Sansa. Lots of insight into her past and what’s been happening in the last few weeks. Enjoy!

 

Thank you to Aiur for your amazingness.

 

Translations at the end of the chapter.

 

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Chapter Twenty Three

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The Lost Queen

 

It had been a long fortnight.

But it had been wonderful. Almost every moment she'd been in King's Landing had involved excellent care, healing, and genuine love by those around her.

Rehhi, a Dothraki woman of whom she was growing quite fond, was brushing her hair. She was chattering away in Dothraki, and Sansa was already starting to pick up some of the language. Queen Daenerys had glowed with happiness when Sansa had greeted her with several simple phrases over the last few days.

_"Aena shekhikhi, Khaleesi."_

Daenerys had been so pleased when she had spoken the Dothraki equivalent to "good morning" to her, the queen had bestowed gift upon gift to her, and told her not to feel bad about any of it. Most of it was coming from Jon's incomes regardless.

Either way, it was the least Sansa could do... she wanted to show Daenerys how much she appreciated everything being done for her, and she knew that the Dothraki people meant a lot to her. Just by the look on the queen's face, Sansa had known she'd done something wonderful for her.

She now had an entirely new wardrobe. Everything that she could possibly need to wear for weeks on end had been bequeathed to her. Only after being in the Keep for a few days and well on her way to healing, Daenerys had brought in a veritable army of dressmakers. She had been measured for everything she needed from boots and slippers to smallclothes, morning dresses, dresses for court, and several formal gowns. Daenerys had even insisted on some rather racy pieces that Sansa refused to even consider wearing.

The styles had shifted from the last time Sansa had been at court, and the fashion was considerably more revealing. With both Dothraki and Essosi cultures represented in court, along with the former Queen Margaery's influence from the Reach, women's dresses exposed much more skin than she would have previously believed.

She had never realized how large her breasts had become until she had been put into one of her court dresses and the laces on the back tightened. She felt like she would spill from the front of her dress if she bent over. The dressmaker and her helpers had tittered and giggled over her, saying that men would give her their entire fortunes just to spend time with her and her magnificent bosom.

_I don't want anything to do with men. Can't anyone see that?_

She had protested that she wanted higher necklines on her dresses, and had ended up in tears over the situation. Daenerys and Jon had ended up coming into her room, when one of the guards had reported she'd started crying. It was almost annoying how easily the couple was summoned to her chambers at the slightest disturbance. She knew they cared, but sometimes that made it even more humiliating when they came to her.

Jon had gotten an eyeful of her breasts as the dressmakers had tugged at the gown, of that she was sure. His face had been pink when the seamstress and Daenerys had argued vehemently over her teats. Daenerys did not seem to have a shred of modesty, and didn't seem to think anyone else did either, as she yanked and pulled at the fabric covering her chest. Jon had ended up looking away, and Daenerys had fought for her to be covered more at the sight of her distress. The dressmakers had been thoroughly insulted, but had done as she was bid.

She was now covered much more appropriately. While her shoulders and the tops of her breasts were still bare, she didn't feel like she was going to explode from the dress if she breathed too deeply.

Rehhi was elegantly arranging her hair now, clucking like a mother hen as she did so. Sansa smiled softly as she watched her in the mirror, and then looked at her own face.

The bruises were gone. The swelling was as well. The large cut that had been above her eyebrow was mostly gone, but Rehhi and Yeta had applied something to it and it looked like it wasn't even there. They had pinched her cheeks and made her bite her lips, and it was now as if she were another person.

She hadn't felt pretty in so long. She hadn't seen herself gowned and done up in so many years, it was a shock to see that she was a woman grown.

_Mother, do I still look like you? Or am I more beautiful, like you always said I would be?_

Her body was no longer willowy, her breasts no longer small, and her hips no longer gently but narrowly curved. Over the course of her captivity, her hips had become wide while her waist stayed thin. She could not help but feel that her breasts were abnormally large. Rehhi had cackled as she squeezed them and weighed them in her hands, much to Sansa's shock.

"You feed many babies. It is known."

She was slowly becoming accustomed to the Dothraki and their odd behavior. They had no problem touching her and pointing out things occurring with her body. They massaged her naked skin with decadent oils and loved to brush her hair and play with it.

"You are ready."

Sansa looked up and saw that her hair was completed. It consisted mostly of braids and was very intricate. She went to touch it with her fingertips, but her hand was slapped away viciously.

"No touch! Ruin."

She stood then, and was directed to the full-length mirror by the dresser. She was dressed in white and grey, the colors of House Stark. It gave her a small sense of calm. But her belly still felt sick at the thought of what was about to happen.

Daenerys had decided to hold a formal gathering to reintroduce her into society a few weeks prior during a council meeting. She had protested, but Daenerys had said that in order for her to prove that she was who she was, she needed to show her face. Rumors that she was an imposter were everywhere.

It had also been discovered that she hadn’t been given an annulment from her marriage to Tyrion until quite recently, a late wedding gift from her now ex-husband. It was a marriage that she had forgotten about, it had been so long ago, not to mention a period of her life that she tried to block out. Despite Petyr telling her that he had procured the necessary paperwork to annul that marriage, she now knew that it had been a lie. A manipulation typical of him to gain more power. And she had followed right along.

She had never been married to any of the men to which she had thought she had been married, including Petyr. It had only ever been Tyrion.

Harrold Hardyng had been her next ‘husband.’ She had been told to expect her marriage to him. It had been planned well before the marriage to Robert and she had talked with the man on several occasions.

Harry had been handsome and young, but an arse most of the time. She had been grateful that the bedding ceremony was not insisted upon, and coupling with him had been... interesting. She'd been so nervous, and he was much more experienced than her. He had more or less stripped her of her wedding gown and stuck himself inside her immediately. She'd cried at the pain and emptiness she had felt, but the few times they had been together after that were not as bad. It had hurt for the first week or so, but after that, she had actually felt a manner of kindness from him. He was usually gentle, that much she could say.

Petyr had set up an ambush against him during a routine patrol near the Bloody Gate, a minor duty that the new lord had preferred to do himself. She had warned Harry of Petyr, afraid for his life, but he had laughed at her, saying that he was Lord of the Vale and the man wouldn't dare hurt him. He had been more naïve than she was, and it had cost him his life.

Her marriage to the sickly Robert Arryn had been a joke. It had been a formality more than anything; Petyr had revealed who she was to a select few, and it had been determined that she marry the last true heir to the Vale.

She had married him, her sweet little cousin, and had been happy for such a short period of time. She had felt secure, as if no one could touch her, but she had been wrong, as always.

Petyr had him killed shortly after that. His death was ruled natural and considered peaceful. The poisons Petyr had been slipping into his food finally did their job, and Sansa had cried over his body, for he had died next to her during the night. He had been holding her hand.

With Sansa losing two husbands in such a short amount of time, she'd been despondent and filled with fear. The lords and ladies of the Vale had sympathized, but had been more worried about their future with no more known heirs of Arryn blood. Petyr had become Lord Protector again by will of the crown, and had somehow, someway, bribed and coerced his way into marrying her. Toward the end, when he was gaining more and more power, it was as if everyone gave up and handed the Vale to him on a platter. People were disappearing and dying, and everyone feared for their lives. The one person who had fought for her had been Bronze Yohn Royce, but he suddenly disappeared from the Vale court right before her wedding. Petyr later confided in her that he had captured his only remaining son, Andar, and now held him hostage for Lord Royce’s good behavior. She had never seen Bronze Yohn again

_Someday I will find him and tell him how much it meant what he tried to do for me... Petyr told me so many times that Bronze Yohn was his only threat... but Petyr won in the end, as he always did._

_...Until I ended him._

Petyr hadn't been too bad at first. He'd been patient bedding her, despite the revulsion she had felt. However, it had only taken a few sennights for him to discover her taking moon tea, given to her by Mya Stone. And then everything went downhill from there. Mya was either killed or banished, for she had never seen her again either. Same with Randa Royce. The only time after that moment that he had been kind to her had been after an accidental miscarriage he had caused from striking her too many times.

It saddened her momentarily to think that she hadn't truly been barren. Petyr's plans to take over the North had undoubtedly centered on her having a babe, but he hadn't given her enough time to prove she'd been with child. After all of the raping, she had _known_ she was with child. If he had waited just a bit longer, then she would have never escaped to King's Landing, and never made it to Jon.

Now everyone knew that she was unwed. Only a select few in King’s Landing knew of her experiences in the Vale due to its utter isolation during winter, so most undoubtedly still thought her a virgin since she had procured an annulment from Tyrion.

_If only they knew._

There was a knock on her doors, and she stood. Rehhi ushered her toward it as it opened, and she stopped.

And stared.

Jon was dressed in full royal regalia, nearly all black from head to toe, but with fine red accents throughout his tunic. His knee-length cloak was blood red, and on his head, sat a circlet of gold, encrusted with rubies.

With silent footfalls, he stepped further into her room. His black leather boots hugged his calves, and she swallowed as he stopped before her.

"Lady Sansa," he said, bowing before her. She blinked as she suddenly remembered her courtesies, and curtsied deeply.

"Your Grace."

He was smiling when he stood. "You look enchanting, Sansa."

She couldn't help but blush and look down at the floor. She felt incredibly self-conscious of her attire, especially of her bosom. She fought the urge to adjust herself one last time. Rehhi’s insistence on her bountiful breasts being remarkable mattered little in her mind.

"Thank you, Your Grace. May I say that black is your color?"

He chuckled as he took her hand and lifted it. Her lips parted as he kissed it. "Are you ready

He must have seen the worry on her face at his words. "I will be with you all night. You will probably have to pry me away from you so you can dance with the other men."

She forced herself to smile. Thinking of dancing with other men sent a shudder of revulsion through her. "You will dance with me? At least once, I hope?"

He tucked her hand into his arm and began walking from the room. Both doors were opened for them by the guards, and they were followed by several more.

"I will dance with you as many times as you want."

She squeezed his arm. Even though he was king, she knew immediately by his words that he was unfamiliar with the ways of court. She had lived here for so long, but it had taken her only a short time to learn that certain actions could lead to scandals.

"Your Grace, you must not dance with any lady other than your wife more than twice. It would be unseemly. There are already enough rumors about, it would be improper for you to add to them," she teased, catching his surprised expression.

"I can't dance with you more than twice? Even though you're family?"

Her blush from earlier returned. "We may be family, Your Grace, but I am no longer your sister. I am your cousin, and of marriageable age. I am very eligible now... unfortunately."

A frown marred his lips and his face darkened. "Say the word and no man will touch you, Sansa."

He stopped, and she kept walking. His tug on her wrist stopped her, and she turned back to him.

"I... I am unsure of how I feel on the matter. I have just started healing physically... the rest may be different. I don't know if I will ever be of a mind to... to..."

His gloved hand touched her cheek. She leaned into his touch, unable to help it. She could nearly feel his strength seeping through the barrier.

"I have a gift for you. I nearly forgot."

His hand left her and she fought the panic that wanted to Sometimes just a look, word, or gentle touch from him managed to calm the rampaging emotions and memories that wanted to control her, and right now, she was fighting those desperately. How she wanted to lean into him and borrow his strength.

The last fortnight had seen her spending much of her free time with the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Daenerys frequently visited, but as queen and the true ruler, she was more often than not busy. Jon had jested that he was only meant to mate with her as a consort to create heirs, and after she had turned red, they had both been helpless with laughter.

He had treated her so kindly since her arrival. His household catered to her every need. Jon's generosity toward her was so extreme that it sometimes left her in tears. She felt like a princess when she was with him, and he was her true knight.

It brought back so many repressed childhood memories. Her daydreams of Florian and Jonquil, princes and princesses, games of come-into-my-castle and various other fantasies. She had deluded herself for years that all men were good, that all men wanted to be knights, but she knew better now.

_"True knights protect the weak."_

 The problem was that Jon was so gentle and thoughtful that it made her think that perhaps not all of it was a lie. That Sandor had been wrong. They were the same thoughts she had many years ago.

When she had healed enough to finally leave the royal wing, he had taken her to the stables in the hopes of riding with her outside the city. Daenerys had personally offered her the silver horse that she had brought with her from across the Narrow Sea, and Jon had ridden a monstrous black beast of a warhorse that Sansa had been afraid would trample her. It had taken only a few moments of Jon showing her how gentle Blackie was for her to forget her fear.

It had been so long since she had ridden, and she had never enjoyed it when she was a child. Her snobbish younger self had looked down upon the pastime, saying that it made her dirty and sore. Just seeing the excitement in Jon’s eyes made her rethink her previous silliness.

Jon had personally checked the saddle, bridle, and reins on Dany's horse to make sure she knew nothing bad would happen. He had brought her outside the city at a leisurely walk, and had taken her through several paces, showing her the skill of the horse she was on and easing her into territory that she faintly remembered. That he had dismounted and walked her about had shown how much he cared for her wellbeing. She had laughed with joy at the sensation of the horse trotting, not understanding why her younger self had ever disliked such a thing.

Hours of practice over the next few days had made her perhaps too sure of herself. On their third excursion, on their way to visit the Kingswood, she had felt a thrill run through her at a daring thought. She had given Jon quite the wicked look and snapped the reins. The silver had taken off immediately at a vigorous gallop, and she had instantly realized her error. She struggled to hold on as the silver flew over the grassy plain, her hands clutching at the loose reins as her bottom slammed up and down in the saddle. She was sure she had looked ridiculous, and had feared that she would fall at any moment, when she had heard Jon’s call behind her.

Jon had caught up with her quickly enough, the look on his face shocked at her behavior, and had seized the mare’s reins to slow her down to a trot with only a sharp tug. She’d looked at him, her heart pounding, thinking of how stupid she was, when he had burst out laughing.

 They had left the guards accompanying them in the dust, with both of them flying through the long grasses of the fields far outside the city. She had watched with wild eyes as Jon laughed, and then started giggling a bit hysterically.

They were both laughing and breathless by the time they saw the Kingswood in the distance. They were alone, and their protectors were nowhere in sight.

"Daenerys would kill me if she knew we escaped the guards. She hates knowing I'm without protection, as if I can't defend myself."

Sansa had looked at him wide-eyed. She hadn't thought of the possibility of being without guards, and suddenly the forest nearby looked dark and threatening.

"Perhaps we should go back..."

He had reined in his horse next to hers, grabbing at her hands to stop her from worrying the bit in the silver's mouth too aggressively. "She has a soft mouth. She isn't used to a rider who isn't fully in control." Then he smiled. "Don't worry, Sansa. I won't let anything happen to you."

She had glanced down at the sword at his side, something that he always had with him, but she had never seen him use. She had even taken to going to the yards to watch him train with some of the other men and knights, but he never used the sword he carried with him.

They had ridden back much more slowly, talking about the fields being prepared for planting, until they had met with the grumpy guards they had left behind with her stupid mistake.

She smiled at the memory as Jon sought whatever gift he had mentioned, her eyes watching the movements of his hands.

Despite Jon being king, he knew little of his keep and court life. More often than not, she found herself explaining proper decorum and attitudes he should have amongst his people. She hadn't dared join any of the daily petitioning in the throne room, but he would tell her some of what had happened every day when he would meet her for the afternoon meal with Daenerys. Daenerys was much more strict and heavy-handed when it came to thieves, liars, poachers, and common criminals than Sansa thought necessary. Sansa talked with both of them on her knowledge of the expectations of the court, having been around royalty and politics for the past six years.

Almost every day of the last fortnight she had taken Jon on long walks through Maegor’s Holdfast and the Red Keep. She showed him rooms that he hadn't even known existed, secret doorways, and hidden passages. While her knowledge was relatively common, just what she had overheard from maids long ago and some small findings of her own, she explained that there were mysteries in the Red Keep that only a few knew, and that it would behoove him to find out who did. She suggested Tyrion as a good starting point.

She watched as Jon struggled to remove a large, long object from a too-tight inner pocket. It was apparent he had jammed the item in there, and she shook her head as she waited,

They had started somewhat of a routine, spending a majority of their days together. With Jon settled in as consort, Daenerys was now able to handle many of the issues that had been plaguing her, and the queen was frequently found spiriting about the Red Keep to deal with them. While Jon was always present in council meetings and petitions to the throne, he had explained that he typically felt unneeded in other matters, and it seemed like Daenerys honestly preferred dealing with them herself.

In only a few days after awakening from the Grand Maester's care, she had found herself tagging along with Jon nearly everywhere. He was a great comfort and she didn't feel like he minded. After the early morning petitions in the throne room, he would meet with her for a small meal and then usually go to the training yards, where she observed him practice with swords or other various weapons with the knights and squires of Westeros, almost as she had when they were younger. For much of the fortnight she had remained hidden in an alcove where none could see her, but the last few days she had found the courage to show her face. The whispers had been troublesome, but she had lifted her chin high in the air when Jon had come to her side, tucking her hand into his arm as if he did it every day. The ladies and courtiers watching had quieted as she had walked away with their king.

While Jon would quickly bathe and change out of his training gear, she would spend time in his outer rooms with Ghost if he was there, or Daenerys. The first time neither had been available she had sat awkwardly waiting, with nothing to do. Perusing his study, she had found books on war, politics, and various other manly pastimes. She had forced herself to sit down with _War of Conquest_ , which described the campaign in which Aegon I Targaryen and his two sister-wives had embarked to subdue six of the Seven Kingdoms. She had nearly been through the burning of Harrenhal when Jon appeared in the doorway, curious to find her there. She had practically tossed the old book in the air she was so overjoyed to see him returned to relieve her of her boredom.

After he had laughed at her miserable state, he had brought her to a place in the lower levels of the Red Keep that she had never visited before. Many handmaidens and pages dashed about, and he had opened several doors in search of something in particular. When he had found it, he had grinned, and showed her what he had been looking for.

A sewing room. Her heart in her throat, she had walked into the chamber, her hands fluttering over the looms, the needles, baskets of thread, and rolls of fabric.

Jon had told her to take whatever she wanted. She had gone back to her rooms with her arms full, followed by Jon who looked much the same. The stares they had gotten had made them give each other silly grins.

Now she didn't feel as bad when she was without company. She was rusty with her embroidery skills for her first couple projects, but soon felt the love and ability return to her fingers. The first quality object she had finished she had given to Jon, and the look on his face was memorable. A handkerchief with a Stark direwolf sewn delicately in the corner.

"You made this for me?"

She had felt her lips tip up at the corners. "I wanted to thank you. For everything you let me take from that room. I haven't had the pleasure of sewing or embroidery in so long...I wanted to show you how grateful I was. Do you... not like it?"

He had looked so distressed when she had given it to him. As if he never received gifts. It turned out that that was true.

"I love it, Sansa… I was actually never permitted to own anything like this. It was always a plain handkerchief or an old one no one used any longer. At least until I was Lord Commander. And now I have simple white ones." Then he had winked at her, to her shock. "I've never had a lady give me her favor before."

She had gasped, scandalized, before he had started laughing at her. "Don't let Daenerys know you're giving her husband your favors."

"Jon, don't you dare tell her—!"

His laughter had been infectious and she'd felt a smile make its way to her face. "I'm jesting, Sansa. Thank you. This means a lot. Now I will feel like a piece of Winterfell is with me always."

Even now he was pulling out that handkerchief, dangling it in front of her for a moment before he finally managed to draw out a slender box from a pocket in his tunic. It was deep red and long, and she had a suspicion what it was before he opened it.

It didn't stop her reaction though.

Her hand went to her breast and her eyes flew to his face, stunned that he would give her such a thing.

"Your Grace..."

She was thankful the royal wing was empty of courtiers as he pulled the exquisite necklace from the box, handing it to one of the guards nonchalantly before he turned back to her, motioning for her to turn around.

She closed her eyes as she felt the coolness of the precious metal touch her skin. "I'm not very good at this; you should have seen Daenerys the first time I gave her jewelry. She demanded I put it on her and I think she nearly did it herself it took me so long."

She giggled as he finally clasped it together. She touched her fingers to it, and felt tears sting her eyes as she spun around and looked at him.

The chain was made of delicately twined silver, which tapered down into several small diamonds, and then surrounded a large grey stone for which she had no name.

"It's a grey moonstone. Do you like it?"

When was the last time she had received a gift? A true gift, from the heart? She thought quickly but could not place anything special in recent memory. Everything went far back to her childhood. Perhaps when she had received Lady.

"I love it, Your Grace. Thank you."

His kind smile nearly broke her, especially when his gloved hand touched her cheek again. She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes, and gave him a triumphant smile when she finally managed it.

"Now you're ready. The queen is undoubtedly waiting for us by now."

She curled her arm through his once more as they started walking. "Then let's not keep her waiting."

 

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 **Author’s Note** : Mostly a fill chapter, but necessary. Next chapter is the ball...and some bad stuff happens.

 

Please review!

 

 

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Dothraki Translation:

 _"Aena shekhikhi, Khaleesi."_ _-_ Good morning, Khaleesi. (Light of the morning, Khaleesi.)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings of inadequacy...  
> Jealousy and desire...  
> Fear and loss...

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone! Sorry for the late post. Enjoy!

 

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Chapter Twenty Four

 

Daenerys

 

Jon had arrived annoyingly late.

After Missandei had announced them, they had walked arm in arm to the High Table, where Tyrion, Alestra, and other important lords and ladies stood, waiting. It always gave her somewhat of a thrill to see hundreds of people bow and curtsey deeply when they saw their king and queen appear.

Then Sansa had walked in, unescorted, her hands holding her dress lightly as she advanced to the table, where Jon sat her next to him in a place of honor. Once they had all been seated, food and drink had been served and the dancing had begun.

The celebration was mostly meant to reintroduce Sansa to high society, but was also a bit of a tradition for the announcement of spring. They were a tad overdue, but it wouldn't have happened at all if Grand Maester Hyndyll hadn't mentioned it.

Sometimes she felt like the worst queen in the world.

She knew so little about Westeros. Even Jon struggled, for he was not accustomed to the lords, ladies, and courtiers that were always flocking around them. His life in Winterfell had only prepared him so much, and even though he was courteous and good, the political intrigue and nastiness of many of the people often left him stunned.

Court in the Seven Kingdoms was not anything like the dances and lively fights she had experienced as a _Khaleesi_. It was startling reminiscent of Meereen. The people had feared her and hated her for conquering them, and while Westeros had been saved by her and Jon, the people often acted put out all the same. They were brainwashed by the High Sparrow. They would smile to your face but stab you in the back the moment you turned around. The nobles would ask for outlandish favors and money in order to provide for themselves, while their people starved. It was always about them, not about their smallfolk, just like the good masters and their slaves. The gossip and rumors could ruin a person’s life. Maidens and women were treated like whores if they so much as looked at a man the wrong way. Men were forgiven anything.

It was a society of misogyny and misery, and she was the ruler. In Meereen she had been unwanted and unwelcome, and she sometimes felt that things were not all that much different here.

She had observed Jon distancing himself from much of it. He would join her with the small council meetings and petitions in the morning, but then he would typically be gone the rest of the day while she ruled. She couldn't blame him... for she had told him he was just a consort. Even in the paperwork that had been drawn up, it had specifically stated that he was a separate legal entity... and while he held power, she was the final word in all things, unless she said otherwise.

She assumed much of his distance had to do with Sansa. Dany had noticed in the days since Sansa had arrived that a different side of Jon had emerged. A much kinder, gentler side, a side that showed her how much he cared for his family. It made her long for her belly to grow with a child. She wanted to place that babe in his arms and watch his face glow with happiness.

A pall hung over their relationship. She was often so busy that what little time they had together was usually spent in each other's arms, in passion. She longed for him all day as she sat talking with men from all around the Seven Kingdoms, discussing the problems that still needed resolved since the end of the war, and some even long before then.

The few times she had managed to bring up the dark cloud that hovered over them had found him angry.

"Jon, we need to talk."

His face would immediately fall. Initially he had thought their "talks" would involve something bad about himself that she had wanted to complain about, but he had learned quickly that there was only one thing she wanted to talk about.

"Jon... we can't wait too long. Every day that goes by puts us at risk. If you die, it's the end. The end of us, of the Targaryen line. It will die with me if you do not take another wife."

The way he would look at her would be devastating. The first few arguments had involved total disbelief that she would even ask such a thing of him. Then, as she would bring it up more and more, it shifted to rage.

"How can you expect me to marry another woman, Daenerys? I am yours, and you are mine! We said the words in the sept. We said the words at the heart tree. We have been wed a single moon, you haven't even given yourself a chance!"

Their fights would lead to her dissolving into tears and him either going to her and holding her or slamming a door behind him so he wouldn't say something he didn't mean. It would only take a few moments for him to come back out and gather her in his arms, apologizing, but she could tell how she was hurting him.

She wished he understood that she didn't want it either. She wanted him for herself. But she also had a duty, and she knew that her womb would bear no fruit if the _maegi's_ words were true.

"I don't even know if I can have children," he'd argued with her one night, desperate. "I was with Ygritte and Val for moons and neither fell pregnant. What if we are both incapable of having children?"

It had been a legitimate concern initially, but then they had laughed pathetically at their situation. It would only be their luck that both of them were infertile.

"You were never cursed. You have no legitimate reason to think that you cannot have children, Jon. Perhaps the wildling women had a way of preventing conception, much like the whores in cities do."

He'd given her a funny look, as if he hadn't thought of it. "It still changes nothing. You ask too much."

Her speeches on the old Targaryen kings taking more than one wife had flown over his head. It was probable that his own father and mother had done the same, as Rhaegar had been married to Elia when he met Lyanna. Mentioning that a full-blooded, true Stark had been involved in polygamy hadn’t helped. It had just made him more indignant to have his parents brought up.

"What if I told you that you could pick her? That you could court a lady of your choosing?"

"This conversation is disgusting, Dany."

He refused to reason with her. She didn't know what else she could say. As queen, she could order him to take another wife, but she didn't want to push him. She wanted him to agree to it.

But she was coming to the point where she might need to force him.

Their closeness only increased as every day went by. Despite her busyness and long days, the time spent with each other was precious and filled with bliss. Every time she found herself in his arms, she only wanted him more.

She made it a point not to bring up anything that could upset him at night when they were finally alone. She wanted to be happy with him and not cause any problems.

The one night she had come to his chambers she had brought up several issues that had troubled him enough that it had caused him to have nightmares almost the entire night. She had held him close, but despite her warm arms sheltering him, he was not safe in his dreams.

They had both awoken bleary eyed and miserable. He had apologized vehemently, and had told her that it was the first time in a while that he'd had nightmares like that. What he had said to her next had made her ache for him.

"Ever since we started sleeping together, the dreams haven't been bad. I'll have one here and there, but when I awake, you're there... and it's like everything is alright."

She sighed as she watched the dancers on the floor. She had never been an accomplished dancer, or very good at any of the womanly arts. She had been raised so oddly in comparison to the ladies of Westeros, and she had little in common with them.

The men and women on the floor swirled together in a blur of colors that almost hurt the eye. She had to admit that it looked fun to dance in the Westerosi fashion, but she usually ended up thinking of the harsh beating drums of the Dothraki, and it made her miss the wild thrashing and gyrating the men and women had done at the feasts and celebrations.

Jon was a much better dancer than she was. He had at least grown up in a castle, and Sansa had been thrilled to entertain her with childhood stories of forcing her brothers and Jon to dance with her and her little friends. Jon's face had been red as Sansa recounted numerous tales that had left her sides hurting, picturing her husband as an awkward youth.

The dances that Sansa and her friends had forced Jon into turned out to be a good thing. After Dany and Jon had led the first dance, something simple that she had been able to learn easily enough, he had taken Sansa about the court as she had returned to the dais, watching them from afar.

Sansa's beauty was truly stunning. She honestly hadn't seen it in the girl until the last few days, when the last of her wounds had finally faded. Her hair was every man's dream, so thick, long, and luxuriously red, and her lips and cheeks were only complimented by it. Her pallor had been so sickly that Dany had thought the girl naturally sallow. It had taken a few sennights, but with plenty of food and rest, she had started to glow.

She could now see what Jon had meant by Sansa being proclaimed the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms.

But now she was a woman, and it was clear that men and women alike wanted her.

_What will this woman look like a moon from now? Two? A year? She is just now coming into the full blossom of womanhood..._

Jon's protectiveness over his cousin became noticeable only after a few dances. She felt amused at the dirty looks he was giving the lords and knights approaching her. Sansa was obviously shy and troubled over it, and Jon brought her back to the dais quickly to take her away from it all. She hadn't danced a single time, and Dany felt sad for her.

_The horrible things she must have experienced in order to feel such a way...I can only imagine._

"Are you enjoying yourself, Lady Sansa?"

She watched the swell of Sansa’s breasts as she drew in a deep breath, and could understand why she had wanted the neckline raised. She was very well endowed. Dany was glad that she had made the dressmakers listen.

"Yes, Your Grace. It is... just a bit overwhelming."

She was such a fearful girl in public. But when they were alone, the three of them, she would see a very outgoing personality come out of her that she was sure would eventually overcome that shyness. The timidity that she exhibited now was undoubtedly caused by being hidden for years and being mistreated. She knew that sooner or later the winter rose would blossom.

"You should dance. At least once. Jon told me that he promised he would dance with you," she said, looking over at her husband, who was scowling at her. He had not promised her such a thing, but he wasn't going to deny it in front of Sansa. He had spoken to her briefly that he doubted Sansa would dance with anyone but him, and that he had offered, but wasn't going to make Sansa do something she did not want to.

"I don't want to impose..." Sansa's words were so quiet she could barely hear them.

Jon stood at her right, and then stepped over to Sansa, who sat next to him. He aided her out of her chair, and Dany couldn't believe the lovely blush upon the girl's cheeks.

_She must practice that. Is it even possible for a lady to blush so daintily and perfectly?_

They walked over to the edge of the throng, where it was like a sea parted. The song currently playing by the ensemble quickly ended, and an elegant, slow chord was struck.

She watched as Jon took hold of Sansa's hand and petite waist. Looking at them from a distance made her notice how near in height they were, with the top of Sansa's head reaching Jon's nose. She felt a moment of jealousy over the girl's height, for she was so short, she only stood at his shoulder.

Other couples gathered around the king and his cousin, and almost as if practiced, all stepped at the same time to begin the dance.

The dresses and cloaks of the dancers whirled around in graceful circles, and in the center of it all was Jon and Sansa.

Their faces were so happy. They were clearly enjoying the dance and whatever they were speaking about. Undoubtedly some fond childhood memory.

She sat stunned for much of the dance. The steps were complicated, but the way the couples spun in each other's arms was mesmerizing. Sansa's mostly white dress contrasted sharply with Jon's black, and they nearly shined in the firelight of the torches.

She watched him, longing to be the one dancing like that in his arms. She wanted to be the one held close against his chest, staring into his eyes.

"Your Grace."

She snapped out of the haze she was in, startled by the feminine voice addressing her.

_Great, another one._

Lady Margaery was another vision. Her chestnut hair was up high on her head, but several lazy curls were placed intricately so that they dangled against the sides of her face to her bosom, which, needless to say, was on display in quite the spectacular fashion. Daenerys could see where much of the current style had come from when she saw the former queen.

Daenerys nodded to her as Lady Margaery curtsied deeply. The woman had only arrived earlier that day from the Reach, but had managed to be prepared for the celebration with almost no notice.

"Are you having fun, my lady? I hope that you have had no problems since arriving."

Dany wanted her to enjoy her time here. Last time the woman had been in King's Landing she had been a prisoner of the High Sparrow. Little was known of what had happened to her, but she had been accused of adultery and was now free. Dany could only assume that she had not been found guilty.

The woman had a beautiful, sweet smile. Her teeth showed even and white in the flickering light. "Everything has been a complete delight, Your Grace. It is so kind of you to invite me back to court." She looked down demurely before she stepped closer to the dais. Ser Barristan and several other guards strode forward, and Dany held up her hand to stop them.

"You may approach, Lady Margaery."

She curtsied again as she stood right before the table. It was covered in foods of all kinds, but she had eaten very little in her musings. Margaery's eyes swept over the table before they returned to her face.

"I wanted to ask Your Grace if it would be possible to meet with you soon. The raven you sent was... slightly alarming. My brother, the Lord of Highgarden, did not want me to leave. But I told him my duty is to the realm, and I could not ignore a call from my queen."

_Clever girl._

Dany smiled and sipped at her wine. Margaery's eyes followed the motion, and she saw a brief flash of something in her face. She wondered what it was.

"We shall meet tomorrow. After the court petitions, if that is fine with you?"

She curtsied again, so proper it was almost sickening. "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you. I look forward to seeing you then."

Dany nodded and the girl left. She watched her walk to the side of an old woman, and knew that the woman was her grandmother, Lady Olenna. A shrewd, devious woman if the rumors were true.

The dance had long since ended, but when she looked up, she saw Jon was still dancing with Sansa. It was a much livelier and upbeat dance, which quickly involved being separated as they switched partners multiple times. Everyone was laughing as they hooked arms and spun, then went on to the next.

When the original couple met together again, the man swirled his lady around and around. She watched Jon do as much with Sansa, until she was breathless from laughing and the spinning about. It ended on that note, and everyone clapped.

Jon was escorting Sansa back to the dais when he was tapped on his shoulder. Dany felt her hand unconsciously tighten on the stem of her glass as Jon turned, undoubtedly shocked that someone would touch him in such a manner. The man standing behind him was taller than he was, thick in the shoulders and chest, and going bald. She couldn't hear the words, but she could clearly see how Jon pulled Sansa into his side, as if protecting her. People were starting to murmur behind their hands.

It was obvious Jon denied the man a dance with Sansa. The man, whoever he was, was not pleased. Sansa's face was waxen by the time Jon walked away stiffly, his expression dark as he guided her back to their table. She heard Tyrion snicker off to her left, and then Alestra reprimanding him.

"What happened?" she asked as Jon pulled out Sansa's chair and helped her sit down.

"He didn't want to take no as an answer. We all know that Sansa has no interest in men, and I told her that I would not make her dance with anyone unless she wanted to." Jon yanked his chair out so hard it made her jump.

" _Aqqisat oakah anni_... here, have some wine. Rest for a bit." He did as she bid, and she turned to Sansa, who was doing the same.

The sounds of revelry increased as the hours went by. Men and women alike laughed and danced and talked. The music being played became louder and more upbeat, and the sound of laughter around her was wonderful.

On both sides her lords and ladies laughed. She smiled at the sight of Alestra smacking at Tyrion’s lecherous hands reaching for her bosom. Missandei was chatting with an Unsullied behind her. Further down she saw a Stormlands lord entwined quite heatedly with his lady wife.

To her right sat Jon and Sansa, who were talking animatedly over something involving Winterfell. Occasionally the two would laugh, and then both would become serious. But as time went on, the laughter became more common. It made her chuckle to see her husband tipsy, and the sight of Sansa’s flushed cheeks was lovely. It was nice to see the two of them much more at ease.

Beyond them sat more lords and ladies, and all seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the night and the music. Wine, mead, ale, and various forms of liquor were distributed by the servants, and even they were smiling.

It delighted her to see such things. This was something she could enjoy, something that brought back fond memories of the Dothraki. Although the dress was different, it seemed like all peoples, no matter where they were from, turned into silly, drunken fools when plied with too much alcohol.

“Will you dance with me?”

She turned to see Jon with his hand outstretched towards her. She had imbibed a tad bit much herself, but the thought of twirling around in his arms sent a thrill through her. Her lack of knowledge of the dances didn’t seem to matter anymore. People were moving about erratically, and it seemed like decorum no longer mattered.

“Yes.”

It didn’t take her long to realize exactly why Jon had asked her. A man, blond of hair and handsome, had asked Sansa to dance. Dany could only assume the reason she had accepted was because she had drunk too much. It made her glad to see. Perhaps it would break her out of her shell.

_Jon refuses to leave her side, so he asked me to dance._

She felt both touched and hurt. She hoped that he was not embarrassed at her lack of dancing ability, and her fears were silenced as they joined the merriment on the floor below. It was organized chaos; everyone was twirling and laughing, and no one seemed to be paying attention to anyone else.

Jon guided her perfectly. Although he whirled her about in such a way that Sansa stayed always in his sight, he still engaged her in a way that made her feel grateful for the dance.

She herself caught Sansa in her sight a few times. While the northern lady was being much more conservative than other ladies around her, she was still smiling and laughing. The man, whoever he was, grinned down at her and spun her around a handful of times, to the delight of his partner. She felt Jon relax in her arms, and knew that it was because Sansa was enjoying herself.

“I didn’t think she would dance with anyone else but you tonight,” she said loudly in her husband’s ear, pressed close to him for but a moment before his hold loosened and she knew that he was going to manipulate her in some manner. Her inexperience frustrated her, but she still giggled as he dipped her backwards, quite scandalously, and grinned wickedly.

“I didn’t think you would dance with me again either,” he said.

The music around them quieted for several seconds before a loud, dark chord was struck. The drums were harsh and deep, and her heart pounded.

The lords and ladies howled with delight around her, and both she and Jon looked around to see everyone gathering in a large, misshapen circle. They had no time but to do it as well, and everyone hooked their arms together. She looked about wildly, shocked, as the circle began moving. She had no idea who the lady was to her left, but she was overly plump and joyful, laughing in a high pitched manner that was infectious. Dany wondered if she knew she was clutching the queen to her side. Jon at her right was looking a bit dazed, as if he were as unsure as her.

The circle moved in such a way that it was relatively easy for her to predict its movements. She and Jon stumbled a bit, but everyone was laughing and it made them laugh as well. It grew in size as the people spread out, their arms still entwined but pulling apart until they nearly had to let go. Then they would move together quickly, until they were nearly smashed together, everyone chortling at the swaying and movements of the drunken dancers.

At first she thought that was all there was to the dance, until someone was shoved into the middle. A woman dressed in cloth of silver covered her face in humiliation as she was surrounded by the circle, and then was cheered and goaded until she began dancing by herself in the middle. She was painfully shy, and only twirled about a few times before she ran back to the circle, grabbing an unsuspecting man to do much the same as her.

All the while the circle was shifting in size from large to small and back again. Women and men alternated from their spot in the middle, making a spectacle of themselves for a few moments before they returned to the circle.

A woman in a scarlet dress was shoved forward, and the men cheered much louder for her. Dany watched with fascination as she lifted her skirts to bare her stocking-clad ankles, eliciting gasps from many, and then began dancing quite heatedly.

It was much more wicked than any other woman’s prior dancing, and it was clear the men loved it. Dany threw back her head and laughed, thinking to herself that these Westerosi people had no idea how silly and dull they would seem to a Dorthraki, or a Qartheen.

A few more people were forced into the middle, but none were as exciting as the woman in the scarlet dress.

Until Sansa was thrust forward.

She looked lost for but a moment before a smile reached her red lips. Dany watched the men of the circle, and saw the captivation on their faces as Sansa began to spin around, her thin, elegant arms lifting into the air. At first her movements were slow, and then she spun faster and faster. Her white and grey dress billowed around her, baring the white stockings of her legs in only a moment of naughtiness.

Dany turned to Jon as he chuckled at Sansa’s antics. Then he stopped as Sansa reached out for him, trying to make him take her place. The instant horror on his face made her positively die laughing.

She shoved at him for him to go, except Jon didn’t let go of her arm, and Dany did not let go of the fat girl beside her. The circle collapsed in on itself, and everyone laughed loudly at the abrupt end of the dance.

“More drink!” she called, to the amusement of those around her, and servants swarmed around them, offering wine and ale. She laughed at the sight of so many people drinking joyously.

She had no idea that the people of this country could have such fun. While it was still conservative by her standards, she had feared never having moments like this ever again.

Jon escorted her and Sansa back to the table after she tossed back some wine. She giggled as he brought her to her chair, and she clutched at his arm for a moment before he was able to turn to Sansa again. " _Aqqisat oakah anni_... I am going to ravish you this night.”

He grinned crookedly as he came back to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She realized she couldn’t feel it.

“If you drink much more, no one will be doing anything.”

She giggled outlandishly. “Nonsense! I will show you.”

Jon sat beside her after he settled Sansa into her chair, and they spoke naughty things to each other for a while, to her pleasure. Jon was always so strict and stiff in public, but the drink seemed to bring out a side of him that was rousing to them both. While he was not drunk enough to fondle her in front of everyone, the heated looks he gave her were enough to set her on fire.

She had no idea how long they sat there, speaking quietly to each other as the night wore on. She felt lost in his grey eyes and the slightly slurred words coming from his lips. She couldn’t help but think of what was in store for her husband once they left the ballroom.

“Jonnn?”

Dany leaned forward as Jon turned to see Sansa standing from her ornate chair, her skirts momentarily catching on her foot. Jon went to help her, but Sansa waved her hands at him flippantly, dismissing his aid. “I must use the... the privy. I shall be back... sh... shh... shortly. Oh my,” she giggled, placing her hand on Jon’s shoulder, her entire face glowing with humor. Dany could just picture the grin on Jon’s face, as she found herself grinning as well.

“Ser Barristan, can you please have someone escort Lady Sansa? She seems a bit tipsy right now,” she said, laughing, as Ser Barristan signaled for two Unsullied to follow the lady. Sansa was giggling the entire way out of the ballroom, her amused laughter infectious, as even Tyrion and Alestra seated next to her were chuckling at the scene.

She relaxed into her cushioned chair, biting her lip as Jon turned to look back at her. His eyes immediately caught the gesture, and she pressed her thighs together when his gaze lifted to hers. It took everything in her to not kiss him.

“You are being quite the tease this evening, wife.”

She loved hearing him call her that. _Wife._ It felt like he owned her. A primal part of her enjoyed that thoroughly. The woman in her loved that Jon was masculine enough to have that dominating factor, that edge that so many men she knew didn’t possess. Despite his issues, despite the emotional wreck he could sometimes be, all he had to do was look at her the right way and it made her feel purely feminine, it made her think: _Just take me._

“Your Graces, I apologize for interrupting, but I am concerned. What is taking Lady Sansa so long to get back?”

She turned to Ser Barristan, who stood behind her, protecting her as always. His face was not as stoic as it normally was, however. The lines in his face were much more pronounced, and she saw a strain about his eyes. She couldn’t say if it was because of exhaustion or another reason, but at his words, she blinked, suddenly realizing that the lady of the celebration had not been by their sides for some time.

Turning to Jon, she saw his face shift into an expression that instantly terrified her.

Her reaction time was dulled, but both she and Ser Barristan managed to slap their hands upon his shoulders before he jumped out of his chair.

“Your Grace, do not panic. If you create a disturbance, it would show that the monarchy does not have everything under control. You must remain calm and subtle. I will send men out immediately to retrieve her. She might have taken a spill or something. I am certain she is perfectly fine.”

Ser Barristan gathered six Unsullied to his side with a mere gesture. Dany watched them all with worry in her eyes as they marched in the direction Sansa had gone with her two guards. The privy was not far, and the men took much longer than she would have liked to come back.

When they did return, she could tell by the looks on their faces that something was wrong.

“She’s gone.”

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : Sansa’s gone! What could have happened to her? Thoughts? Please review!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letting your guard down can have disastrous consequences...

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone, I hope that this chapter lives up to your expectations—it was hard to write, especially some of the more complicated scenes. Please let me know what you think, and enjoy, as always.

Thank you to Aiur and his infinite wisdom.

 

*****Warning: Some scenes involve rape themes*****

 

* * *

 

Chapter Twenty Five

 

The Lost Queen

 

_This...isn’t...happening. It can’t be._

The gag in her mouth tasted of sweat and blood. The sweat was from one of her abductors, for he had wiped his face with it before shoving it into her mouth. He had then tied another about her head after she had spit it out. The blood was more than likely from her biting the inside of her mouth on accident, from trying to scream around their grappling hands.

_I shouldn’t have drunk so much wine..._

Perhaps if she had been in her right mind, she would have noticed some oddities as she and her two guards had made their way to the privy. The two loud thumps she had heard outside the door had registered as something curious, rather than serious. She had been wobbling on her feet, giggling at her awkwardness as she pulled up her smallclothes, when three men dressed in festive clothes had appeared in the doorway.

Her delayed scream had been cut off. The men had dived on her, a large, callused hand slapping over her mouth to silence her. She had been gagged and tied immediately, and then dragged out of the privy in the opposite direction of the ballroom.

The halls were silent. All of the people were celebrating spring and her return to society rather than loitering about the distant public privies. It had been such a lovely night...

The three men were deadly and cared nothing for life. One always went to scout ahead, and she heard two Unsullied patrolmen speak to the man, as if in casual conversation, before each died with a gurgle. The Unsullied didn’t suspect anything from nobility, as they were dressed just like other attendees.

They had hauled her by the bodies before they dove into a hidden alcove, where they pressed on a red rock, which opened an entire wall. Her eyes wide, they brought her into the darkness.

They hurried her through the walls of the Red Keep. She was blindfolded after some short discussion in another language, one she had never heard before, and everything went black. She could hear the men whispering curses of frustration and lewd comments. Several times her breasts were groped and the area between her legs was pawed at through her gown.

_Jon..._

She tried to remain calm through it all, her hazy mind questioning if it was a dream or real. As time wore on, she felt her head clear and realized more about her situation. Their trek was slow and deliberate, but she had no sense of direction because of the blindfold.

_Jon will find me._

Their eager hands upon her body grew more insistent as their journey continued. As her fear increased she felt her drunkenness fade away, and she stumbled on purpose many times, trying to rub her skin upon any object she could reach. She heard her gown tear, and hoped that the men had not noticed, and that a piece of fabric had remained behind.

Her need to piss again grew as time wore on. She knew it was because she had drunk so much. She could not do much more than mumble around the gag, and tried to hold it for as long as she could.

She deliberately released a slipper from her foot. The men didn’t seem to notice. The decision was an immediate regret, for the ground was rocky and felt sharp upon her skin. But she could not deny that it would give someone a chance to find her.

_Jon will find me._

The men were completely silent then, and they stopped. One whispered venomously in her ear, and she shuddered in revulsion at the smell of his stale breath and spittle upon her flesh. “If ye make a single fuckin’ sound, you stupid wench, I’ll cut off yer nipples. I might even cut yer cunt a bit, make it so ye never have pleasure again. The master said nothin’ about anything but getting’ ye alive to ‘im.”

Terror crawled up her spine as her breasts were mauled with rough hands. Tears leaked from her eyes and were absorbed by the blindfold. She prayed to the old gods and the new, hoping Jon would come soon.

_Jon will find me. I know it._

Night air struck her face. It felt cool and refreshing, but did nothing to calm her. Breathing in a panic, she allowed the men to haul her along, and she flinched as she released her bladder as slowly as she could. Urine dripped down her legs as they moved along, eerily silent.

“In ‘ere.”

Doors creaked. She heard the sounds of dripping water. She strained her hearing, hoping she could get an idea of where she was, but they were so quiet.

“Jus’ need ta get through ‘ere, boys.”

The sound of rushing water hit her ears, along with a horrible stench. She gagged, and then began struggling as she felt the men draw her into water. It rushed all the way up to her knees, and she felt herself being weighed down by her heavy gown. She tripped and fell, and the men cursed as she brought them down with her. With a curse, she was clouted over her head.

Everything became hazy, and then there was nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

She felt the panic of another. One she was not familiar with. All she knew was that it wasn’t her.

She felt confusion. Everything felt different. Smelled different. And she could see.

The room was beautiful. She felt a brief shock of surprise when she realized it was Jon’s room, the room of former Queen Cersei. Long gone was the red and gold that had filled the décor, and instead it was simple, clean, typical of a man. There were paintings of war on the walls, weapons mounted to them as well. There were two fireplaces, both with dead fires in the hearths.

She was pacing back and forth. There was a whine in her throat. She tried to figure out what was going on when there was a shove, like someone was pulling her away.

She didn’t fight it, and then there was darkness once more.

 

* * *

 

 

She moaned weakly, her mind reeling. Her temple pounded painfully.

“The bitch be awake. Heavy cunt, she is.”

“Shut it. We almost there.”

“Ey, you promised! Ain’t no one gonna come down here. We can take a break, perhaps have a bit o’ fun.”

The sound of a metal creaking and screeching reached her ears, and she was thrown to the hard, damp ground with a grunt. She tried to scramble backwards, but almost immediately hit something, and she couldn’t move well because of her tied wrists.

Then there were hands upon her, lifting her skirts.

She screamed around the gag, but all she heard was laughter.

“Aye, a bit o’ fun.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

“Something is wrong. I can feel it. Sansa is in trouble. I know it.”

His wife was staring at him, her violet eyes wide at his words. “We can’t incite panic. Stay calm, Jon. Ser Barristan is sending out men to search for her.”

He felt another sense, one that wasn’t his, acting restless. His mind was fighting with him, wanting to be elsewhere. His eyes fluttered briefly, and he felt Daenerys grip his hand, forcing his mind back.

“Jon... you are acting odd. Are you...?”

He looked at her, and he felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, even through his clothes. Her face seemed clearer, her scent stronger. Arousal and fear from her was thick in the air, and his fingers took hold of both of her arms.

“I think Ghost is… trying to get my attention, Daenerys.”

Her eyes grew even wider, if that was possible. “I...is it that...skinchanging thing you told me about?”

Her words were so low that he knew he would have struggled to hear her if Ghost’s senses weren’t coming through their bond. He had never had something like this happen to him—he could tell Ghost wanted him, needed him. Like he was trying to tell him something was wrong.

“Yes. Stay here. I will be back as soon as I can.”

The worry on her face tore at him, but he knew he had to go. He caressed her cheek with his gloved hand before he stood, and he swayed for a moment before he righted himself.

_I am a fool for drinking. Thankfully it’s wearing off._

A combination of fear and Ghost was slowly clearing his head. As he walked to a side room, six Unsullied followed him. He caught Daenerys watching him, and nodded as he ordered the men to remain outside. He was thankful for their sense of duty, for no questions were asked.

He sat down in a corner and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Ghost

 

He felt the moment that his friend was there. The presence was not a soothing, calm one as it normally was. Now it was angry, full of anxiety, and the need to hunt.

He felt his teeth bare themselves as he focused on the door of their room. Together they ran full-tilt towards the ornamental man structure, and he slammed his massive body against it.

The wood splintered and gave, but not fully. He did it again and again, until the doors finally ripped apart and hung weakly from the metal binding them to the walls.

And then he ran. They ran.

He bolted towards the privy near the ballroom, directed by the other mind as to where he was needed to go. Various scents reached his nose, and he took a moment to inhale deeply. He smelled _her,_ the human, the woman who was family. The woman who had cared for his sister.

She smelled earthy and floral, fleshy and delicate, arousing and maternal. He could taste her on his tongue.

Under all of her natural scents however, they could smell fear. It wasn’t just her fear, though. There were the scents of other men. They were no longer there, but he knew they were dead. And they were not his worry.

He ran again. He followed her smell with ease. It changed several times, as a mixture of the tang of blood, sweat, and tears hit his nose. His hackles rose on his back as he smelled the blood, and he ran harder, faster.

He came to a dead end. The wall was bare, a small alcove in an otherwise unnoteworthy area of the Red Keep. He whined as he searched for her smell, trying to figure out what had happened to her.

If it wasn’t for the other presence in his head, he wouldn’t have known what to do. He raised his snout into the air and sniffed, lifting slightly into the air as he searched for more scents.

A rotten smell reached his nose, and he knew it was one of the men that had taken his human. And the smell was distinct in a small area, where he pressed his nose.

The wall slid open. He growled as the scents returned to his nose. His size was almost too much for the area, but he shoved himself through. Cobwebs, dirt, and splinters caught in his pristine fur, but he cared not. He had to find her.

He had to crawl and maneuver himself into odd positions to get through some areas. His fur was yanked and torn, and he yelped as something sharp jabbed him. The presence in his mind soothed him, and he continued on, knowing he had to.

New scents reached him. He stopped by a slipper, of which he drew in several deep breaths. A minuscule piece of shimmering fabric caught his eye sometime later, followed by several more.

He came to a door. There was a lever about shoulder height, and he felt the other mind joined with him instruct him on how to open it. He opened his mouth and bit down upon the metal, and pulled down.

The stone wall slid open with a slight grating sound, and they recognized where they were. They were inside a tower, the squat, round one that held prisoners. The area was quiet, dark, and empty.

He lifted his nose into the air, and smelled her. His snout twitched when he realized what he smelled, and the other one with him urged him to hurry.

It felt like they ran forever. Deeper and deeper they went, following her scent. The tunnels twisted and wound about, but he never lost her smell.

Until they reached the filthy water. He whined as he pressed his nose to the ground, trying to find her, but she was faint, almost gone.

He dove into the water. It was high enough to make the trek difficult, but he was powerful and determined.

He lost her at one point, and back tracked to make sure he wasn’t wrong. Lifting his nose into the air, he drew in a deep, long breath, and caught a faint tendril of her aroma.

He lifted himself from the current, noting that her smell was strong once more now that she was no longer in the water.

He heard sounds then. They were growing louder, men grunting and someone struggling. There were large holes in the decaying brick walls, big enough to hide within, and he crept quickly towards the noises.

He growled as he stalked towards the sounds, knowing that something was wrong. Her scent led directly to a huge opening, along with the smells of other men.

His ears perked up at a sudden commotion. It was muffled, but he heard it. A scream.

The panic of the one with him eclipsed. He surged forward.

It was instant chaos when he plowed through the opening, and what he saw brought out every wild instinct within him to the forefront.

_Kill. Protect. Hunt. Feed._

Two men held her down. Her eyes stared right at him through the near-darkness, filled with terror. She was gagged and tied. Her fiery hair was in wild disarray. Her gown was soaked, torn to shreds...and rucked up about her waist.

A man was between her naked, pale legs, his cock bare and held in his hand.

He felt every hair on his body stand up, and he bared his enormous fangs.

Blood exploded in his mouth. Screams filled his ears. Weapons struck his flesh, tore into him, but nothing mattered. Nothing mattered but saving her and killing them.

Then it was over.

He watched her struggle to yank the gag from her mouth, and then thin arms lifted above his head to wrap around him. Her wrists were still tied, and he had no way to untie them without possibly hurting her. He let her hold onto him as she sobbed against his filthy fur, and he sat there calmly, a soft whine in his throat.

“Ghost. I want Jon. Please, get Jon.”

She kept saying it over and over again. Her tears eventually stopped and she just shuddered against him.

The presence left him. But he could still feel him. He was always there, in the far reaches, ready and waiting.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

Ser Barristan was waiting for him when he left the room. He could feel the intensity on his own face as he stalked from that chamber, and the older man followed him without hesitation, no questions asked.

Jon feared for a moment that Ser Barristan knew what had happened in that room. Barristan Selmy had been present at the Wall, with the Free Folk and their lore. Undoubtedly he had heard things from them. With as close as they all were, certain peculiarities could point the old man in the right direction.

The thought was brief, however, for he knew that he would never have anything to fear from the captain. The man held the deepest and darkest of secrets of royalty, from Targaryen to Baratheon to Targaryen again. He’d seen it all, and all one had to do was look into his eyes and know that your secrets were safe with him. He was the epitome of a knight. One could search for a hundred years and not find someone more honorable than Ser Barristan.

They left the celebration with only two guards. Daenerys had been talking to Tyrion, and undoubtedly the dwarf knew what was going on. The intensity of the ballroom seemed to have peaked while he was away, and people were slowly drifting away.

“Ghost has her. She is in the sewers, almost outside of the city. I want to be the one to retrieve her. Make sure that no one sees us.”

Ser Barristan nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.” He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “The Unsullied searched the entire Red Keep but could not find her. It was like she disappeared without a trace. The only thing we found were several bodies. Four Unsullied were killed, Your Grace.”

Jon drew in a deep breath, having already known of the dead men from his excursion with Ghost. The two guards that had left with Sansa had gotten knives to the spine, crippling them instantly before they were drug into an antechamber, where their throats were slit. The other two had also had slit throats, but had been left where they had fallen.

“I still have them searching, but in small groups. The search was spread to the city. I will call it off as soon as Lady Sansa is safe.”

They ran to Traitor’s Walk, and they all grabbed torches to aid their descent into darkness. Jon noted very few faces from behind bars as they went deeper. He knew they cared nothing for what was happening, but kept it in the back of his mind that they could be questioned later.

The journey was much longer as a human, and more perilous. The men with him panted behind him as he led them into twisting corridors. More than once he had to stop to think of which way to go; trying to remember where Ghost had gone when he had been warged within him was difficult, for he did not know this place. The tunnels were numerous and could wind back into themselves. It was easy to get lost down here.

When they found the surging water of the sewers he nearly sighed with relief. The stench was great, but he was too determined to think of it.

They jumped into the water. Jon had only a momentary thought of his fancy royal clothing that Daenerys had ordered made for him just for the celebration, but he knew that she would sacrifice all of his clothing if it meant Lady Sansa was safe.

He grew frustrated as time ticked by. They pushed themselves through the filth and sludge, and it wasn’t until Jon saw the nearly hidden side tunnel that branched off that he knew they were close.

They all pulled themselves from the water. They did not have much farther to go, and he motioned for the men to stay. He looked around quickly before he ran across the ancient cobblestones, through a small, arched doorway. His half cape flapped wetly behind him, and his sword struck his hip with solid thumps as he ran.

He stopped when he saw his friend’s white tail lying outside of a large indent in the brick wall. It wasn’t moving, but Jon knew that he was alive. He thanked Ghost a thousand times silently as he halted outside the entrance, gently resting his torch against the wall.

It was dark inside, but he could see well enough. It had been so different when he had been Ghost, seeing things so clearly. The hole had intermittent light from his torch, and it emitted enough of a glow for him to see the shapes within.

When her eyes lifted to his, he sucked in his breath.

“Sansa,” he whispered, stepping slowly, carefully, into the hole. Ghost moved aside just enough for him to kneel next to her, and when she was in his arms, he breathed in the scent of her, just like he had as Ghost. In his human form he couldn’t smell her as well, but he could smell the sweat upon her skin, and the dank, musty smell from being dragged through the ancient sewers of the city. But it didn’t matter how she smelled. She was alive.

“Jon,” she whimpered, pressing herself tightly against him. He held her for several long moments, just wanting to hear her breathing, to know that she was safe in his arms.

“I knew you were coming. I knew it. Somehow, in my mind, I knew you would find me.”

He pulled away from her to see her shadowed face. He brushed back her tangled hair, a chill running down his spine at her words. How...?

“Did you find them? My clues? I tried so hard to—”

“I found them, Sansa. All of them. Ghost did,” he said. He didn’t want her to panic over anything, nor think too hard. Just in case it led to things he didn’t want to talk about. Or that she didn’t need to talk about.

“Can you untie me?” she murmured, and he looked down at her wrists. They were raw from the rope. He pictured in his mind the sight of her sprawled upon the ground, helpless, as a man knelt before her, his cock at the ready. He felt extreme revulsion, and then dread as he realized that Sansa had been raped.

He stood and helped her up. She was watching him, almost with curiosity, and he felt his hands trembling as he reached for her wrists.

“Are you alright, Jon? Why don’t you use your sword?”

He looked down at the sword at his side, and then back at her. How was she talking so calmly?

“Sansa. Were you... were you...”

“No. No, I wasn’t. Ghost saved me just in time.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. He had honestly thought he had been too late. Without thought, he reached down for his sword, and pulled it from its sheath.

She gasped loudly. The sound of it made him realize what he had done.

“Jon... y-your sword. H-how is that p-possible?”

The Valyrian blade that was once known as Longclaw pulsed with life. It glowed with fiery light, almost pulsating, with reds, oranges, and yellows. Warmth instantly filled the circular chamber, but it was not sweltering. He watched with fascination as Sansa reached out to touch the blade, the light curling and dancing about her bound hands.

“It does not burn,” she said with wonder. She looked at him, and he could see the blue of her eyes through the light. They were dark, stormy, like an ocean.

“I can’t begin to understand the powers of this sword, Sansa. It has never hurt me or others that have fought with me. But against an enemy...”

She looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but he knew she could see the haunted look on his face. He quickly drew the blade through the ropes, as if they were butter. She began rubbing her wrists, and he sheathed his sword, cloaking them in near darkness once more.

“Jon, I—”

“Not now, Sansa. You were just abducted. You need to be seen by the Grand Maester. I want to make sure you are safe. Please, we can talk about it later.”

She nodded, and then drew herself against him. He held her, unable to thank the old gods enough that she was relatively unscathed.

He picked her up, and felt surprised at her solid weight as they left the dilapidated space. Daenerys was so slight and thin, and Sansa was tall and thicker of frame. While he still held her with ease, it was different holding her than it was with his wife.

“Ghost is hurt, Jon.”

He turned to see his friend limping behind him. He felt instant alarm, but the direwolf continued walking, as if uncaring of his own wounds. Jon could see the blood upon his fur, and several areas looked worrisome.

“He saved me. I owe him my life.”

She nestled against him, and he couldn’t help but lay his cheek upon her head. “You owe him nothing. He would have died for you, Sansa.”

_I would have done the same._

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : Please review and tell me what you think. Where do you think the story is heading? What do you think is happening to Sansa? Who could be trying to kidnap her? There is a long list of enemies for that poor girl, and not only her, but Jon and Dany.

 

Poor Ghost :( Hopefully he is alright!

 

Psst to some of my reviewers—is Ghost still a traitor? ;D


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abilities questioned...

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone! Sorry for the late bi-weekly posting! I’ve been super busy :( We are coming up to the end of what I have written, and I’ve had terrible writer’s block for months...I am hoping that I can motivate myself to write soon. Maybe some reviews will help :P

 

Enjoy!

 

Thank you to Aiur <3

* * *

 

Chapter Twenty Six

◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝ ◞◜ ◝

 

Barristan

 

He stared down at the bodies of the three dead men.

They had been torn to shreds—Ghost had ripped out their throats, leaving the heads to hang on by a few broken bones and strands of sinew before he had mauled them even more. They were little more than masses of destroyed flesh.

He had watched the king carry his poor, filthy cousin away from the place where the deaths had occurred, cradling the young woman in his arms as if he was afraid she would slip away at any moment. Jon’s orders had been sure and swift:

“Bring the bodies to the Grand Maester immediately. I want them examined. Lock down the Keep. I want Unsullied on every corner. I want these tunnels searched... perhaps we will find where they were planning to exit, or anything else at all…”

Barristan had stayed with the bodies, inspecting them carefully in the torchlight while the two Unsullied soldiers escorted their king and his cousin back to safety. He expected more men shortly to aid in an expansive search of the tunnels and exits.

What was left of the men was difficult to examine. One of the men was missing a leg and another an arm, and their blood was scattered everywhere. Lady Sansa had been sprayed with it, but looked unharmed otherwise.

He prodded through the torn clothing of one man, trying to find any lumps or items of significance. There were weapons, but most had been tossed aside in the struggle and were now lying where he gathered them by the entrance.

Nothing seemed of great import. It left him frustrated, knowing that three men, under the guise of partygoers, had snuck into the Red Keep and had kidnapped a highborn lady and killed men in the process. It made him fear that it could have been his queen or his king.

It was easy to become complacent in times when war was just an afterthought. While he knew better than to ever assume everyone was always safe, it became somewhat of a habit to assign fewer men for patrols, to have fewer men guarding the king and queen, to relax standards and strictness when the times seemed to be getting better.

Or perhaps it was his old age. He forgot things more easily these days. While he still knew he was strong enough to fight for his monarchs, he knew that it would be a challenge to defend them against a young man in his prime.

He knew that a Queensguard died a Queensguard, no matter what. It was dishonorable to leave or be dismissed, as he had been when Joffrey had been king. He had since vindicated himself. However, as he grew older... as time went by, he began to question himself on his ability to serve.

Would a younger version of himself have allowed such a thing to happen? Would a young Barristan Selmy have allowed such a relaxed guard about the Red Keep? Would he have allowed only two men to escort a clearly drunken highborn lady, related to the king of all people, to go to the privy when it was known that her past was troubled?

Perhaps it should be a new rule that once a certain age was reached, that the Queensguard or Kingsguard or whatever they called themselves would be made to retire.

He hoped it was old age rather than complacence. He of all people should have known nothing was ever safe, war or not. Daenerys was incredibly powerful, and too many people feared her or wanted her dead in Westeros and Essos both. Jon was renowned as a hero but many still considered him an up jumped bastard, despite Daenerys legitimatizing him. And even before that, his brother, King Robb, had named Jon a Stark in his will and had told him to take the crown of the North—people could want him dead for many reasons as well.

Thoughts swirled about in his head until he could no longer bear it. Thoughts of what had happened to Lady Sansa after he had been forced to leave the Baratheon court. Even in distant lands, he had heard of the things Joffrey had done to her. She had been but a child, but she had her clothing torn and her breasts exposed before the court by another Kingsguard, people laughing at her as she cried. There had even been rumors of her possible involvement in Joffrey’s death. Although he had been long gone when that had happened, he knew that many still believed that she had committed murder.

And only a select few knew that she had killed her husband, Lord Baelish.

If the right people knew the truth, Lady Sansa could be tried for murder.

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

Why did this shit always happen when he was drunk?

Being forced to sober oneself in a crisis was miserable. His page plied him with water instead of wine, and he grumbled under his breath as he watched Daenerys pace back and forth in her chambers.

He had a need to piss.

“This is unacceptable, Tyrion. I want this rectified at once! This should have never happened. The Red Keep is meant to be a safe haven, a place where men and women alike can roam without fear of their lives! What if people find out? This will be a complete disaster—”

“If everyone who knows keeps their respective mouths such—shut... shut, yes that’s right, then there shouldn’t be a problem. Ser Barristan is smart. He kept everyone calm and organization. Er, organized. How are you speaking so coherently, my dear queen?”

Her violet eyes blazed when she rounded on him. He flinched at the sight.

“How can you still be drunk is the better question? How much did you imbibe? An entire cask?”

He mused silently for a few moments, rubbing his chin and the evening growth there. “Well, you do know that I am a lover. Of wine, that is. I wasn’t expected to be doing anything but drinking and enjoying the festivities, otherwise I would not have imbibed overly. Unfortunately I am unable to sober up as quickly as your much younger, healthier self in a time of calamity.”

She muttered under her breath as she continued pacing. There were guards lining the walls on both the inside and outside of her chambers, where she awaited the return of her husband and his cousin. She had informed him that Jon knew where Sansa was—somehow—and that they would return shortly. Thankfully the celebration had started dispersing shortly after Jon had left to search for his lady cousin, else it would have been quite a challenge to make them all leave and without wondering what was wrong.

Daenerys had told him everything she knew while sitting at the High Table. He was thankful that he was at least not so far gone as to have no idea what was going on, and had immediately began the miserable job of sobering himself. Jonathan, one of his three pages, had been ordered to bring bread and water for him, and he had mumbled through it all.

“Tyrion, who would want Sansa? Do you have any thoughts?”

He hiccupped and quickly fisted his hand to pound his chest. It would be just what he needed while deliberating with a furious queen—hiccups.

“I can think of sev-several. With what we know of her past, I could say the High Sparrow would want her. He said that he wanted Sansa for qu...questioning when he said he would take care of our annulment, something I have thus far denied him.”

He sighed and thought further. “Hmm... perhaps someone in the Vale? We have little idea of what is going on there, and no bodies have appeared. What if someone has proof that Sansa did what she did?”

Daenerys stopped her pacing to frown. “She did it in self-defense. How could she be tried for such a thing?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Who knows. Do we have proof it was self-defense? Do we have proof of anything? We have nothing but a select few seeing Sansa’s injuries and her word. Would that be enough? Could we prove that they were caused by him? There are too many ifs.”

He nearly jumped up when another thought hit him. “Could it be possible that it is Ramsay Bolton? Would it be possible for him to have gotten word so fast and to have hired brigands to kill her or capture her?” Ideas began flashing through his mind quickly then, and he thanked his fading drunkenness. “What if it was him? What if he wants to marry her? He would secure the North in every way possible! It would be almost too perfect, Daenerys.”

Her face fell at his words.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

She thought she might have fainted at some point during their trip back to the royal wing of the Red Keep, because she did not remember the journey.

All she could recall was the touch of the cold, dirty water when Jon had carried her through the sewers, some short words from his lips, and then nothing.

She had felt so secure in his arms. She had treasured every waking moment of him holding her, knowing that it would probably never happen again.

He was not convinced of her safety, though. His face had been so grave, nearly frozen as he had cradled her, carrying her with determination to some refuge.

“I told you that I would never let anything happen to you ever again. And I was wrong.”

She hadn’t known what to say. How could she comfort him from his thoughts? She knew that he made every effort to make sure she was safe, but sometimes it was just not possible. Despite him assigning guards and servants to her, keeping her on constant watch and even being with her frequently, he could not always ensure her safety.

It had taken a single moment of inattention, a single moment of being carefree, for her to nearly lose her life. And she could tell that Jon hated himself for it, something that wasn’t even his fault.

Her eyes fluttered open to her warm room. She was clean, and dressed in a frothy, virginal nightgown. Rehhi sat snoring in a chair. And nearby stood several people.

She sat up as Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, Missandei, and Grand Maester Hyndyll talked in a circle. Their speech was hushed, but occasionally someone would raise their tone. She jumped when Jon slashed his hand through the air, and she clearly saw the frustration on his face.

“This cannot happen. Not now. She’s just starting to get better. What if she relapses? What if—”

“She’s awake.”

Everyone turned, and she felt her face flame. Tyrion must have caught her spying on their conversation, and she lowered her eyes when he cocked his eyebrow. His missing nose made his face look bizarre with that expression.

“Sansa.”

Jon and Daenerys were the first ones to her side, the others staying where they were. The queen of the Seven Kingdoms embraced her, and Sansa felt herself leaning into her, feeling genuine care and affection from the woman. Daenerys held her for the longest time, and she felt her throat grow tight. It took everything in her to fight the tears that wanted to come.

“Your Grace, I think it would be best if we left. I shall return in the morning to examine Lady Sansa once more.”

Daenerys pulled away long enough to nod at the Grand Maester. “Thank you, Grand Maester. Please, take Rehhi with you. Jon and I wish to be alone with Lady Sansa.”

Sansa felt a moment of fear as Rehhi was roused. The older woman snorted and jolted awake, and then got up and left like she did it every day. Tyrion, Missandei, and the Grand Maester left with her, and she was left alone with the king and queen.

Daenerys was stroking her hair, which was still drying. She assumed that Rehhi had bathed her and dressed her upon her return. It also appeared that Jon and Daenerys had taken the time to change as well. Long gone was their finery of the evening.

She was thinking of Jon’s ruined attire when Daenerys spoke. “Is there anything you need, Sansa? Anything at all?”

Jon was watching her so intensely, silent in a way that reminded her of the much more somber boy years ago. Daenerys was petting her as if she were an animal, and oddly enough it soothed her.

“No. I’m fine.”

The way Daenerys’s face hardened frightened her a bit. Her fear from just moments ago returned. Were they going to make her talk? Were they going to ask questions?

“Whatever you want, know it is yours. Anything, Sansa. I care for you greatly, and would not wish to see any harm done to you. Know that those men who did this to you are dead, and that if we find out who did this, they will be dead as well. Jon and I will see justice done.”

She looked over Daenerys’s shoulder once more to see Jon. In the low firelight she could see that his Stark eyes looked like slate. His scars upon his face stood out against the shadows and his paleness. She held out her hand.

When both Jon and Daenerys gathered her against them, she couldn’t imagine a safer, more beautiful thing. She was reminded of her family, of the most secure sensation she had ever felt, of affection and love and joy.

And then a broken sob escaped her throat, and both pairs of arms tightened around her. That only made it worse.

She had no idea how long she cried. At some point she swore she felt tears fall upon her nightgown and soak through the linen, but they could have been her own. She cried for so long that comforting words became hazy, that the arms around her faded, and only warmth existed.

 

* * *

 

 

Barristan

 

“Your Graces.”

He had been looking for the monarchs for quite some time, thinking them to be in one of their rooms, sleeping together after such a tumultuous night.

He did not expect to find them with Lady Sansa, all three of them curled up together as if they were wolves in a den.

He felt the corner of his mouth tip upwards at the thought, for two of them were, really.

“Your Graces, I need to speak with you.”

The three figures in the large bed remained still. Not a single one of them had gone under the blankets, and instead were just lying in the middle of the mattress, curled about each other. Daenerys was spooning Sansa, her arm draped over her middle and held in turn by Jon’s arm. His king’s head rested on the bed near Sansa’s stomach, but his arm reached up, draping over his cousin’s hip, and was entwined with Daenerys’s.

He felt momentary sadness at awakening the trio. They looked incredibly peaceful, and part of his old heart melted at the sight.

The aged knight walked over to his queen, who was most familiar with him, and used to him awakening her. His light touch upon her shoulder caused her to immediately lift her head, and she blinked several times before focusing on him.

The smile that grew upon her face had him further regret awakening her, but she quickly detached herself from Sansa and Jon, and even giggled when Jon let out a bit of a snore.

He stood with her silently as she gazed at the pair on the bed. Her face was filled with a softness he couldn’t remember ever really seeing.

She strode from the room and he followed her. She was attempting to smooth out her simple linen dress, but it was creased and rumpled beyond her repair. She sighed as she went to a mirror on the wall and frowned at herself.

“Ser Barristan. Do you have news?”

He had been awake the entire night, securing the Red Keep, the city, and trying to find out who had kidnapped Lady Sansa. He was exhausted beyond words, and the information he had for his queen did not bolster his spirits.

“Your Grace... the only thing we found were horses outside the city limits, near an exit from the sewers. Upon inspection, we found nothing that could give us a lead.”

Her thin arms fell to her sides after she adjusted the waistline of her gown. She sighed loudly, and then turned to him. “Has the Grand Maester looked at the bodies?”

He nodded. “As did I. Nothing was found.”

He could see the frustration on her face. He felt it as well.

“We shall speak later, after you have rested. I thank you for your duties, Ser Barristan. You have never let me down.”

Her words pained him. He flinched, barely able to nod before he bowed and left.

 

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : Ser Barristan seems to be questioning his ability to serve his queen. I wonder what could come of it...

So any thoughts on who could have kidnapped Sansa?

What do you think will happen now? I love hearing your thoughts!


	27. Chapter 27

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone, sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Life sucks! Hopefully this chapter doesn’t. Enjoy and review!

 

* * *

 

Chapter Twenty Seven

 

Tyrion

 

Everything was fucked.

He hadn’t felt both angry and depressed at the same time in a long time. But the terrible crisis that had arisen once Sansa had almost been captured definitely started him in the right emotional direction.

The demeanor of those around him was severe. Daenerys and Missandei had spies throughout the city, trying to discover who would want Lady Sansa. Ser Barristan had subtly increased the guard in the Red Keep, and the Gold Cloaks were doing much of the same. Jon’s attitude about Sansa’s safety, and that of the people in the Red Keep, changed literally overnight.

Through all of this, it seemed like Sansa herself was taking it the best. She had spoken with him personally about how she did not blame anyone for what had happened, but Daenerys, Jon, and Barristan all seemed to blame themselves. Sansa was afraid, that was true, but she didn’t let herself be ruled by fear, while the three others were doing just that.

Another attempted capture of Sansa occurred not two days later. The poor girl was walking towards the training yards, where she often visited Jon, when she was snatched by a masked man. The guards just around the corner had heard her scream, but Sansa had been quicker.

The small knife Jon and Dany had gifted her the day after her kidnapping was simple; it had a little sheath that clasped about her wrist and rested under her sleeve. She was required to wear long sleeves because of it, until they came up with other forms of protection, but it appeared that Jon’s insight and Dany’s desire for her friend to have protection was well-founded.

Sansa’s scream was followed by her reaching under her sleeve for that tiny, deadly item—and using it to stab the man straight in his eye.

They were in the process of extracting information from the man, but nothing thus far had been retrieved.

The frozen façade Jon acquired after the second attempt was distinct. Even Tyrion and Daenerys were worried over how the new king consort acted... so cold and intense that it even caused the maidens of the court to scurry away in fear.

Jon’s involvement with the affairs of King's Landing and Westeros in general were suddenly his top priority. Daenerys was both thrilled and upset at his participation, but Tyrion saw her hesitate to say anything to him that might push him away. Sometimes the way her purple eyes would glow as Jon gave orders and demanded this and that was enough to see how besotted she was with him. The side of Jon who had once been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch was visible to all who had known him there, as a man knowledgeable and powerful and perfectly capable of ruling.

It was definitely welcome, but Tyrion personally feared that the two monarchs would begin fighting for power if it came down to opposing ideals. In the end, by contract, Daenerys would win. But with Jon being male, it would be possible that the rest of the realm would side with him. He prayed to the Old Gods and the New that would never happen. With the way Daenerys mooned after the boy, he hoped they would have some time before that happened.

Jon had spoken of war with the North if it was truly Ramsay Bolton behind the kidnapping attempts. Not many were surprised that he would think such a thing, as it was common knowledge that Jon despised his foster family’s usurper. But even so, it was apparent that Jon wanted to go above and beyond the mere call of duty to punish whoever was trying to capture Sansa.

On top of it all, Alestra was angry with him. Her pregnancy had her moods fluctuating so greatly that one moment she was crying over how he had been wed to Sansa and that their marriage was false, and others she wanted to kill him. A few other times she was despondent to the point of silence.

Trying to placate her was difficult. At one point she had wanted to move back into the city, saying she was just his whore again, his paramour, not his wife, and that she wanted to have his bastard in peace.

He had ultimately feared her leaving him, and had begged her to marry him once more under the heart tree in the godswood at the Red Keep. She had flown into a fit, saying it wasn’t the same, that it wouldn’t be special like it had been the first time, and now she wasn’t talking to him at all.

So now he was dealing with Jon wanting war, Sansa’s life in the balance, Alestra hating him, whatever was happening in the Vale, worries over the High Sparrow and his meddling in his life, and plethora of other issues that had his head spinning.

Then, when he didn’t think it could get any worse, Daenerys had confided something to him that had had him so stunned, he had been unable to speak.

She was barren. Supposedly. Moreover, she wanted Jon to marry another woman to secure the line and future of the Targaryens.

Fucked. All of it.

Even now, Jon was walking about the Red Keep wearing his newly made red and black Targaryen armor, as the threats of infiltration even into the Holdfast were still high. Just as Daenerys walked about with a chest plate and a score of guards.

All of this in a matter of days.

He had a feeling war was inevitable.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

It was the third attempt for her capture.

She was no longer safe, not even in the godswood. Not anywhere. It didn’t matter how many guards Dany and Jon sent with her.

Lady Margaery clutched at her fingers as the guards rushed them through Maegor’s Holdfast to the royal wing, while she desperately clasped her torn dress together.

She was brutally reminded of Morella as Margaery’s grasp tightened, and she saw the fear in the other woman’s eyes.

She had almost been taken too.

They were nearly to the royal wing when she saw Jon burst out of his chambers, surrounded by several Unsullied, glancing one way and then the other, before he saw her.

_They must have just informed him._

Her eyes began watering at the expression on his face. He was so pale. She could see the strain in every part of his body. His fear was so great, she could feel it from the short distance between them.

She released Margaery without a second thought and ran to him, her skirts tangling about her legs. She collided with the armor on his chest but cared little as his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. She drew in deep shuddering breaths as she played the scene over and over again in her mind, and cherished every single moment she heard his whispered words of comfort.

It had been only a sennight since she had first been kidnapped. It seemed like what little of her life she had begun to rebuild was being destroyed. The chance to start anew dwindled every day... with every attempt to take her.

She didn’t know what she had been thinking. How did she ever think that she would somehow escape it all? That her life would be simple and easy, and that she would live out the rest of her days with nothing to fear?

Whoever wanted her knew something. Thoughts of who could want her constantly ran through her head. Ramsay, the Vale, the High Sparrow, Baratheon or Lannister loyalists, the list went on and on.

She felt like she would always be haunted by someone, something...

Her thoughts and dreams plagued her at every moment she wasn’t distracted. What little headway she had made with healing felt mostly gone now. She had been desperate to leave her rooms, after having been ensconced in there for days, and Margaery, with whom she had been newly reunited, had suggested taking a stroll through the godswood to clear her head.

It had been so wonderful at first. The sun had been shining, the birds had calling to each other. The flowers were blooming and the air had smelled of life and earth. She and Margaery had walked about the grasses and trees, giggling and enjoying the false freedom from the red stone fortress. There had been talk of her visiting Highgarden and reminiscing. The entire Red Keep was on lockdown for security, and they had thought they were safe. Their guards, all from the Unsullied and Highgarden, had stood along the perimeter, keeping their distance as they had allowed them time together, alone. Before it all went wrong.

Jon’s hold tightened, his gloved hand buried in her disheveled hair. She felt him shake before he pulled away, searching her face and then her body for injuries. She had been lucky... only her bodice had been torn. The smallclothes beneath had saved her modesty.

Jon glared at the men that surrounded her. “How did this happen? You _know_ I ordered Lady Sansa to be protected at all costs!”

A Highgarden knight stepped forward, and Margaery lifted her hand briefly before she bit her lip and looked down at Jon’s angry glower.

“Your Grace, it was an ambush. Men dressed in dark clothing dove from hiding places and snatched at the women. We were able to save them—”

“This is unacceptable! How did they even get into the Red Keep? The curtain wall outside of the godswood is supported by a sheer cliff! The only way they could have gotten in would be someone letting them in, or—”

“Your Grace, if I may?” Ser Hendry Greenwood said, dropping to one knee as he interrupted the king. Jon’s eyes went nearly obsidian he was so livid, and his stare made the man shrivel inside his green armor. Sansa noticed her king’s gloved hand reach for his sword, and without thought, she settled her own over it. In just that simple movement, she both saw and felt him settle.

“I will forgive your interruption this one time, Ser. You can thank the Lady Sansa for that.”

“Many thanks, L-lady S-Sansa,” the knight said as he stood. Margaery’s face was bright red with embarrassment.

“There were ropes with grappling claws, Y-Your G-Grace. Hidden in the bushes. Somehow, someway, they managed to climb the cliffs and over the walls, all without being seen. They must have done it at night. We are currently searching for their boats—”

Jon turned his back on the man, dragging Sansa with him. She barely caught herself from crying out at the sudden movement, and nearly tripped over her feet as he escorted her back to his chambers.

“You are not to leave this wing again, Sansa. The only way I can ensure your safety is if I know where you are at all times.”

He was angry with her. She was sad to see him so, but it was better than the coldness that oozed from him of late.

“I have broken my promise to you thrice now. I have barely been able to protect you thus far. What if they had gotten you this time, Sansa? Do you know what that would have done to me?”

He propelled her into his room, slamming the door in the faces of the guards and Lady Margaery. Inside, Daenerys, Ser Barristan, Grand Maester Hyndyll, Missandei, and Tyrion waited, their faces filled with worry. The walls were lined with Unsullied guards holding spears.

Sansa began wringing her hands. “I-I’m sorry, Jon. I just wanted some fresh air. I felt so much better. I never thought that... that something bad would happen again. Please, forgive me. I would never want to hurt you. You are all I have left.”

She caught Daenerys making her way to them out of the corner of her eye before she chanced looking at Jon again. His face had fallen.

“Sansa...”

Daenerys promptly enfolded her in her arms. The tiny woman hugged her tightly. Sansa found herself more than grateful for the queen. She held her in return as her hair was stroked over and over again. It calmed her.

“This has gone too far, Daenerys. Whoever wants her won’t stop until they have her. Until she’s long gone from here, and we never find her again. Either we find out who it is right now, or get Sansa away from King’s Landing. Something. Anything. This cannot continue.”

The group moved near as Daenerys let her go. The queen stroked her cheek gently, and she forced herself to smile as she held her dress together.

“There are too many suspects. If it’s Ramsay Bolton then he is too far away and we have no proof. If it’s someone from the Vale, well... we know almost nothing. If it’s the High Septon then we can’t do much. Little proof other than threats. We can’t kill him. He holds too much power over the smallfolk. He has them brainwashed. We could have Sansa brought somewhere safe... but there are very few places that I would trust to have her,” Ser Barristan said. “If we continue these lockdown procedures, someone will find something out and Daenerys’s and Jon’s rule will be called into question. People are already growing restless, and suspect that something is wrong. The High Sparrow could start the riots again. At this point, no one is safe.”

“Then we leave,” Jon said, his face intense. His right hand was gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, and her attention was drawn there briefly. Jon had still not spoken to her about it. “Sansa and Daenerys depart for Dragonstone. Leave Tyrion here to rule in our stead. I will head to the Vale.”

Daenerys was watching Jon intently. “Tyrion is very capable of ruling. He is a good man and loves his family.” Tyrion’s genuine smile was heartening for them all to see. “Maybe Jon is right. Perhaps the best thing to do at this point is to flee until there is a solution. Sansa is not safe. However, I don’t know how I feel about my consort going to the Vale...”

Daenerys’s proud chin lifted high in the air as Jon stepped forward and pulled her against him. Their armor clanged together. It made Sansa’s heart pound to see the way Daenerys melted against him, as if she had never been mad. _“_ _Aqqisat oakah anni..._ the only way we can ensure Sansa’s future and safety is to make sure the Vale is ruled out. I will seek the king’s justice for her and our family from whatever was left behind by Petyr Baelish. From what Sansa has told us... he has been the catalyst to many of the problems in the realm, along with some of the deaths in our family. Whatever is left of his House will feel the wrath of the House Stark.”

She felt faint at the mention of Petyr, the man who had never truly been her husband. Her rapist. Daenerys stood on her tiptoes, and they were all subjected to the sight of their king and queen kissing.

“I will allow you to leave, under one condition.”

Sansa was shocked to see Jon’s face switch immediately back to ice. “No.”

The queen’s expression hardened and she stepped away from Jon, putting a significant distance between them. Sansa was confused at how they had gone from affectionate kissing to fighting. The passion of the pair was always tangible when the two were in the same room, and it was something of which Sansa was always aware. She often sighed and smiled at the sight, but privately felt jealous of Daenerys and how lucky she was to have a man such as Jon, a man who was everything a true knight should be.

“I will decree it, Jon. Do not make me. Please, I do not want you to leave like this. _Vorsa atthirari anni...”_

Jon shook his head, adamant in his position. Sansa noticed Ser Barristan’s hand shift to his sword, and felt shocked that he would make such a move. Although the couple was fighting, she knew that Jon would never harm Daenerys.

“I will never agree to something like this. _Aqqisat oakah anni..._ please. Don’t do this to us.”

She could see Daenerys’s eyes watering from space between them. Jon’s plea meant nothing in the end.

“It shall be done. The ravens will leave the rookery upon our departure. On your return, you will choose another bride.”

Sansa gasped, but she seemed to be the only one who was surprised. Jon’s standoff with Daenerys was unyielding, making her uncomfortable as the two stared at each other with open hostility.

She could tell Jon wanted to say something. Daenerys’s face was flushed, and her stance was leaning towards Jon, as if daring him to.

Jon spun on his heel, his lips thin and his skin drained of color. Sansa thought he was just going to walk out, but instead, he headed straight for her.

She welcomed his embrace. It was powerful, steadying. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek on the cold steel of his pauldron.

“You are my kin, Sansa. I will see justice done for our family. Just give me the word, and I will hunt down whoever seeks to take you.”

She pulled back enough to gaze into his eyes. They had lightened, and she could see the lovely Stark grey once more. The lighter flecks of color towards his pupils were almost silver.

Tears threatened to come. But she wanted to be strong. For him. For what he needed to do... for her. For their family.

“Yes, Jon. For our family. Let’s bring this to an end. Show whoever it is the meaning of the Stark words.”

“ _Winter is coming,_ ” they said together.

She pressed her lips against the cool skin of his cheek, above the thin beard he had grown back. His face remained passive as he stepped away, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see his despairing wife, or anyone else.

The last thing Jon saw was her throwing her shoulders back and lifting her chin. She hoped that he would remember the image of her being as strong as the winter winds their family once knew so well as he did what needed done.

 

* * *

 

 

Ser Barristan

 

The bag on his side held something more precious than gold.

Six eggs wrapped in colorful silks nestled together in the leather sack, which was held tightly to his front by his left arm. His right held the hilt of his sword. He was surrounded by at least one hundred Unsullied as they waited outside the Dragonpit in the lightening sky, shortly after the hour of the nightingale.

Daenerys stood nearby, stiffly saying goodbye to her husband. Ghost, still recovering from his wounds, stood next to Lady Sansa, who was said a more enthusiastic farewell than Jon’s own wife, so cold was the pair to each other.

Even as they began their departure from King's Landing, ravens were leaving the rookery in droves, cawing madly as they flew overhead. Jon’s eyes would glance back and forth from Daenerys, Sansa, and the black birds, and it seemed as if his face grew more and more frozen as each bird left the capital.

It was early enough that the sky was still a dark blue, with only subtle hints of the oncoming sun. The city was still asleep, but its citizens were starting to stir. They would need to leave immediately, as their cover would be gone soon.

“Your Grace,” he called, alerting Daenerys to the time. She nodded and tugged Sansa back to her side, leaving Jon alone. His stiff form was all the more apparent as he bowed to the ladies, then turned and left for the Dragonpit.

The king was taking Drogon on her first flight since she had laid her eggs. Near Maidenpool, a small army was gathering to march on the Vale, just in case they were met with opposition. Jon was flying there to meet his men.

Daenerys and Sansa were looking at each other, and it seemed as if Daenerys was struggling to keep her composure. He knew that his queen was suffering on the inside, as Jon was leaving and they had parted on terrible terms. Sansa was touching her arm and murmuring to her, undoubtedly offering comforting words. The girl was now known to comfort others, no matter who they were, highborn or low.

He called to the men around them to prepare for departure. The Unsullied began marching away, and he saw Daenerys cup Sansa’s cheek and smile before she too, entered the Dragonpit.

Sansa quickly mounted the silver the queen had given Sansa to ride. Several guards and handmaidens clustered around her and they pushed into the deep recesses of armored men, wanting her to be in the center near him, where he bore his precious burden.

A roar vibrated through the air then, and Barristan looked upward to see an enormous black shadow envelop them all. The women pointed and cried out as Drogon soared through the air, circling overhead and shrieking.

He could see the tiny form of his king as he stood in the stirrups of the saddle, waving down at them. He caught Sansa doing much of the same, waving frantically and her face filled with awe as she saw Jon atop the black beast.

“He is incredible, Ser Barristan. A true king.”

As Jon flew away from the capital, he watched the girl’s face fall. Then almost immediately, two more shrieks filled the air, and two smaller, but much more colorful dragons shot into the air from the broken roof of the Dragonpit.

Daenerys was on the back of Rhaegal, the green dragon circling through the air trailed by his cream-colored brother as the queen too, left the city.

As they passed under a gate, he saw Sansa staring after the three dragons growing smaller and smaller in the lightening sky. Drogon disappeared first, and then the other two. Both monarchs were flying in different directions, away from each other for an unknown amount of time.

“Do you think Jon will ever forgive her?”

Barristan turned to the red haired vision next to him. She was quite literally one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She sat so primly in the saddle, and despite the sadness about her eyes, she was still lovely beyond words. Perhaps even more lovely than Ashara.

“King Jon is usually a calm, reserved young man. But there are quite a few times that I have seen Daenerys bring out a side of Jon that is... not himself.”

Sansa pulled up closer to him as they began moving faster. The Unsullied were starting to trot alongside the mounted men and women, and he knew that the pace would be agonizingly slow due to the unmounted men around them.

“Is Jon happy with her?”

Her question was difficult for him to answer. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable divulging the intimate relationship of his charges. He was privy to much more than anyone else, as he was the captain of the Queensguard and was almost always with them. He sought to sooth the lady’s fears with a broad response.

“I think that Jon knows his duty. As does Daenerys. But despite that duty, I believe that they are well suited and care for each other. They have already overcome much. When we all return to King's Landing, things will be different, though. Daenerys has ordered him to find a bride. There will be hordes of women from all over the known world vying for his attention. If Jon’s reaction to her decree meant anything, it was that he did not want it. He will fight Daenerys every step of the way.”

Sansa was chewing her lips. A small wisp of hair had escaped the intricate style on her head, and was curling erratically around her chin as their steeds picked up the pace. “I will be returning to the North soon, Ser Barristan. Jon has told me in confidence that he wants me to be the Lady of Winterfell. I want your word that you will care for Jon and not let Daenerys hurt him. You are a true knight, Ser. I know it is your duty above all that you protect your queen, but please... Jon is all I have. If you could perhaps reason with her...”

Her caring words were a strain on his old heart. Her Tully blue eyes were so intense, staring at him, waiting.

“I cannot promise you such a thing, Lady Sansa. However, I can tell you that I guide Her Grace on paths I believe to be for the best. I would never allow them to unduly hurt each other. In that, you have my word.”

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note** : Wow, quite the chapter. Looks like Jon no longer has an option with obtaining another bride. Sansa is hopefully going down the proper path to reclaiming her birthright, and Dany is agonizing over an heir to the throne. What do you think? Please review!


	28. Chapter 28

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone...sorry for the lateness of this...life has actually sucked pretty badly of late. Please enjoy.

 

Thank you to Aiur, as always.

 

* * *

 

Chapter Twenty Eight

 

Daenerys

 

He had barred his door to her that night.

She had knocked, but had dared no more as the silence had continued, with no word from the inside.

She had cried herself to sleep. The one night they had together before they were separated... and he loathed her.

_How long will we be apart? A fortnight? Moons? Longer?_

She wished he understood her reasoning. Even Tyrion, despite his hesitance, had understood. If she could not carry on the line, then it was his duty to do so. He _had_ to take another bride. The days they had argued over it had accomplished nothing but resentment. They had shared a silent agreement not to fight at night, when they were alone and could be together without the world intruding, but she had known it was bothering him despite his lack of words.

She felt her head fall back and she closed her eyes. Unwittingly, her fingers touched the skin of her throat, imagining Jon’s lips doing the same.

_You have been gone for only a sennight, and already I am dying for your touch._

She had flown nearby at all times as the small contingent of Unsullied had marched to Duskendale, where ships would take them to Dragonstone. A hundred of her best men had surrounded Ser Barristan and Lady Sansa, as they had secretly carried the dragon eggs to their destination.

Daenerys had seen the Sparrows stirring with the new day as they had left the capital, waiting to merge with a larger army before Rosby. Despite taking a hundred Unsullied, thousands were still left inside and outside of the city, along with the City Watch, and she knew that Tyrion would be able to handle the burden of ruling in her stead. He would be sending updates via coded ravens to both her and Jon’s host at Maidenpool. Many ravens would be flying between the three of them.

Once her men had reached Duskendale she had flown ahead to Dragonstone with the eggs. She had only originally stopped at her birthplace for a day to leave a castellan in charge as she and Jon had been finishing their campaign in the South, and it had made her feel warm to see the home of her ancestors.

She was there for two days before Sansa and Ser Barristan arrived, along with the men.

She sent a majority of them to Jon.

She immediately sent a raven to him upon Sansa’s landing. The young maester there, by the name of Pylos, aided her in doing so.

_Vorsa atthirari anni... you are in my thoughts, as I know I am in yours. I await your word from Maidenpool._

Less than a day later, she received word from him.

_Queen Daenerys, every day more and more men arrive. Soon we will be able to move on. You will hear from me before long... King Jon._

His coldness towards her was evident even through the rolled parchment. As each message passed between them, his tone never changed. It made her ache for him, knowing how he must be feeling.

_I would have never done this if I had a choice, Jon. You know that. But this is the only way._

When a raven delivered a message to Dany from Jon that the lords of the Vale had invited him through the Bloody Gate and met him at the Gates of the Moon with nothing more than a very large honor guard, she felt relief. Jon had apparently accepted their oaths in her name, and offered many of the families positions of honor within the Red Keep.

Sansa read each message, often waiting in the rookery for hours, her hands and mind kept busy with embroidery as she anticipated word from her kin. Dany would usually be found in the Chamber of the Painted Table, and Sansa would rush in with word, a smile on her face that Jon was well, always making Dany feel relieved.

Daenerys found herself observing the Stark girl more intently once they arrived at Dragonstone, having little else to do. The two women spent hours exploring her birthplace, finding incredible artifacts, caves, and mysteries that they had no word for. It was hard to keep yourself busy when a person you cared for so much was preparing for a possible war, and so they instead grew closer.

Sansa was much smarter than she looked. She was wary to show it, but Dany found sparks of it emerge at the oddest times. As they explored Dragonstone and were away from King's Landing longer, Daenerys saw the girl blossom from the shell that she had been hiding within, scared and overwhelmed. She wasn’t perfectly well, and likely never would be, but it was wonderful to see the changes.

Ravens from the mainland began arriving inquiring as to when the royal family would return to King's Landing, so that available maidens would know when to flock there. Tyrion informed her that girls as young as one and ten had begun showing up within a matter of days once the ravens had departed King's Landing. Dany hadn’t even asked it of her, but Sansa offered sage advice and information regarding the potential brides that she wouldn’t have known otherwise. She realized quickly what an asset she was when it came to the houses of Westeros and their families, along with the courtly intrigue peculiar to the Seven Kingdoms and numerous other aspects of being queen of which she had little knowledge.

She found herself spending more and more time with Sansa as the weeks went by, and together they mourned the absence of Jon.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

Lord Yohn Royce, Lady Anya Waynwood, Lord Lyonel Corbray, Lord Eustace Hunter, Lord Horton Redfort, Lord Gerold Grafton, Lord Benedar Belmore, and Ser Symond Templeton sat around him in private council. Having accepted their pledges of fealty in the name of Daenerys Targaryen, he now interrogated them together for any and all information they had one the plans, plots, and mechanisms of the deceased Lord Baelish. Specifically, any men previously working for him who might still hold a grudge against Sansa Stark.

He wasn’t shocked by most of what he heard, but it angered him all the same.

The more he learned of Petyr Baelish, the more he hated the man. He longed to find the dead bastard and kill him all over again with his bare hands.

Instead, he listened. He listened to the stories of the people before him, and what they spoke of made him both thankful and upset.

Nearly all of the lords claimed to have been mistreated under the rule of Lord Paramount Baelish. Eustace Hunter’s father and older brother had been murdered by his younger brother Ser Harlan, and Petyr had refused to grant Eustace justice for his family. Not only that, he saw the trend and rightly feared for his life. Lyonel Corbray had been happy with his new bride, who finally delivered him the strong and healthy heir he needed… only six months after the wedding. The match had been arranged by Baelish and certified by his younger brother Ser Lyn Corbray, who the others confirmed to be ruthless and power-hungry as well as dishonest. Redfort in particular was flustered whenever Ser Lyn’s name was brought up. Last anyone had heard, Ser Harlan and Ser Lyn had fled into the mountains, amassing what men they could for protection.

Jon quickly learned that out of all of them, Bronze Yohn was the one that had fought the most for Sansa. He had been friends with his Uncle Ned, and close to the Stark family. He had tried everything to help Sansa once he had discovered who she was, but Petyr had had the girl wrapped around his finger, brainwashed, and so protected, it had been impossible. He had eventually been banished to his castle, where he had feared attempting anything else that might risk the girl’s life or the life of his last living son, Andar Royce, who had been captured on the road and held hostage. If not for these reasons, Bronze Yohn would have put the Gates of the Moon under siege.

Jon was glad to hear that his son had been returned to him, unharmed.

Lady Anya expressed many sympathies. Her words were heartfelt, but her actions were little. She had witnessed the manipulations of Petyr Baelish over the years, but had felt helpless once Petyr had bought up all of her debt. She had seen some minor forms of ill-treatment from Petyr toward Sansa, as had they all, but it was not enough for Jon to prove the man had kidnapped, abused, and raped a highborn lady, amongst many other atrocities.

Other than Bronze Yohn, the lords had been frequent visitors to the Eyrie and the Gates of the Moon during Petyr’s reign. According to them,  Sansa’s true identity had been announced shortly after she was wed to Harrold Hardyng. When he died, the lords of the Vale had demanded that she be wed to Robert Arryn for her own safety, if they were to be believed. When her previous marriage to Tyrion was brought up, Petyr had procured the paperwork for an annulment from the High Septon, and they wedded her to the sweet boy.

Jon explained to them that Sansa had never been properly annulled from her marriage to Tyrion. Undoubtedly the paperwork had been forged, or possibly lost in the transition between the previous High Septon to the new. Either way, the Hand of the Queen, Lord Tyrion, had been forced to procure the documents himself from the High Sparrow.

The council was outraged to hear such a thing.

“We were hoping that eventually the marriage between Lady Sansa and Lord Robert would help the child grow healthier. Sansa cared for her cousin. Perhaps if our lord had not died, they would have ended up loving each other and become great leaders of the Vale. We had originally thought of trying to have them consummate the marriage on their wedding night, but Lord Robert was far too young and sickly. Lord Baelish was all for it... but we managed to prevent it, just barely,” Lord Belmore sputtered out.

Jon sat forward, seeing the shame upon the faces present, all except Bronze Yohn, with whom he shared a similar look of disbelief.

“What? What did you do?” Bronze Yohn barked.

Lady Anya drew in a troubled breath and could not meet his eyes. She twisted her aged fingers together. “Sansa was prepared... as in, she was made to be ready to please her husband by orders of Lord Baelish... but at the last moment Lady Sansa had told me that she was on her moon blood, and it disgusted or distracted Lord Baelish enough that we were able to permanently postpone their bedding. Robert Arryn died shortly after that.”

Jon couldn’t believe that the people in front of him would attempt to do such a thing. To shame a highborn lady in order to have her breed with a boy that was sickly and too young besides.

“How could you do that to her? To him?” Bronze Yohn yelled, slamming his meaty fists into the table and making it shake. The others sitting around him paled and leaned away. The older man’s face was nearly purple. “She was such a gentle thing. Robert was a pathetic scrap of—”

Jon held up his hand, not wanting to start a fight as the others stirred. “I agree, Lord Royce, but we must continue.” He honestly didn’t want to hear about what they’d had planned to try to get the two to come together. It was too disturbing to think of a boy that young having sex. He looked at the others again, rubbing his forehead as a sharp pain began piercing him there. “How did Robert Arryn die?”

Lord Eustace Hunter shook his head then. “He died in his sleep, next to his lady wife. She was of a great comfort to him after his mother died, when we all thought her to be Alayne Stone, Baelish’s bastard daughter. I remember Sansa being distraught for some time.”

“Robert’s death was determined to be natural by the Maester,” Lord Horton Redfort added, poking his head up awkwardly before he slouched back into his chair.

“Let’s go back to Sansa’s marriage to Hardyng. She told me they were wed not even a moon before he died. How was that ruled?” Jon asked, wanting to hear what the council thought before he told them yet another truth.

“The mountain clans. They were becoming unruly. Petyr asked him to lead a party of mounted Vale knights to subdue them, and Harrold Hardyng was full of himself from becoming a newly made lord. He never hesitated to do it. He died from being stabbed in the throat.”

Jon leaned forward. “Lady Sansa has confided much to me. She told me Petyr had him killed. That it was a setup.”

No one looked surprised. They all looked at each other before Ser Symond Templeton, the Knight of Ninestars, chuckled. “Petyr has supposedly been involved in many of the deaths here in the Vale, Your Grace. It wouldn’t be shocking to say that the majority of highborn deaths over the recent years were orchestrated by him. But we were never able to find proof. Hostages and debts and promises kept everyone quiet, for one reason or another.”

Jon stood from his chair then. The massive wooden structure crashed to the ground. “Why would you allow him to marry Sansa, then? If you all knew how awful he was, why not tell the crown? Why not do _something_? Anything?”

Bronze Yohn stood as well, his size intimidating, but Jon felt no fear. Not from this good man. “Your Grace, do you think we didn’t try? That I didn’t try? Every moment of every day we had to fear for our lives and the lives of our families. His manipulations were so great that no one knew whom to trust. We couldn’t even trust each other. His limitless gold lined over half the pockets in the Eyrie. No one was safe. No one could do anything. Do you think the crown cared? Queen Cersei? That bitch probably got the messages and laughed, if she ever received them. No one gave a single shit about our plight when there were so many other problems elsewhere. Everyone gave up. Our children were taken as hostages. We went home or were banished. We looked after our own. It was all we could do. He won, and we left Sansa to her fate.”

Jon was disappointed, but he also understood. He knew what it was like to be surrounded by enemies on all sides, worrying about your family when no one else cared.

It brought back terrible memories.

He fisted his burned hand within his glove. In the weeks that he had been gone from Daenerys, his old nightmares had been following his every step. Despite what she was trying to force upon him, he longed to have her by his side. In his arms, surrounded by darkness, where she could protect him from the demons that wanted to claw at his soul.

_Aqqisat oakah anni... I wish you were here._

In his weakest moments, before the sun would rise in the sky from behind the towering, snow-capped mountains, he would find himself genuinely debating a flight to Dragonstone. Just for a day or two. So he could hold Daenerys, and Sansa, and know that they were safe and happy, and then go back with a little less weight on his shoulders and in his chest. So he could breathe easier and sleep better.

Leaving Daenerys as he had torn at him brutally from the first night onward. When he had awoken without her by his side, he had found his bed ripped apart and drenched in sweat. It was just like all the nights before they had wed, except for the one right before, when she had listened to him and held him close.

He had heard her timid knock that last night. He had also known she would do no more. What pride she had sacrificed doing just that cost her too much. Even for him, her husband... the fire of her life.

So he had denied her entrance. He had his own pride. He remained silent until he knew she was gone, and then screamed until his throat was raw into his feather pillow.

_Why? Why are you doing this!_

In his private musings, when he wasn’t surrounded by dozens of men demanding his attention, he pictured himself flying on Drogon to Dragonstone, where he would find her waiting for him. She would say she was sorry and hold him to her breast as he knelt before her, just clinging to her and inhaling her soft, warm scent. And then she would guide his hand to her belly. It would still be flat, but he would know exactly what she meant.

He longed to hear of the news. He prayed to the Old Gods every day that she was with child when he left her. That this folly would end. That he wouldn’t have to sacrifice himself in order to continue their line.

Lord Redfort touched his arm, and he looked at him, startled. He hadn’t realized anyone had been speaking, and he looked up to Bronze Yohn.

“...can be brought here within the next few days. She can ride a mule like no other. The snows are starting to melt, so it should make it a bit quicker. I know she can reveal some information no one else has. Perhaps we can even bring Myranda. They were close with Sansa. Until Petyr had them sent away.” He paused, as if silently musing. His next words were subdued. “Mya is quiet. She almost never speaks anymore. Randa... she’s... not herself.” Lord Royce was watching him. “Maybe they can give you what you need, Your Grace.”

He blinked, trying not to make it obvious that he hadn’t been paying attention, but knew the lord would know if he wasn’t honest. He had met him once before, at Winterfell, and he knew that the wizened man saw things most didn’t. “I apologize, my lord. I haven’t been sleeping well. Who do you speak of?”

The softening of the man’s face was unexpected. “Mya Stone, Your Grace. And Myranda Royce.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath, as if resolving to say something and settling that he would. “Your Grace... Jon. Jon Stark. Ned would be proud. You might be the king... you might have taken the name Targaryen, but you look like him. You take after him. A good man. I know you will see right done by Lady Sansa. Right done to the Vale and the North. Just as you did the Seven Kingdoms, fighting those monsters beyond the Wall. I can’t say much more than that... other than thank you. For coming here, when we thought hope was lost.”

He felt as if he was punched in the gut. The reminder of his uncle, of the man that was really his father, not Rhaegar, always hurt. Being told he looked so much like him wasn’t uncommon. Tyrion had brought it up several times that he looked so much like him it was unsettling. Perhaps a bit more comely, having grown out of the solemnness for which Lord Eddard was known. Then Tyrion would laugh and say he must have gotten it from Rhaegar, who had been a beautiful man.

“I thank you, Lord Royce. I take your words to heart. For the Vale and the North both have been grievously wounded by Petyr Baelish. With your help, with the Vale’s help, I will see justice done. After these women arrive, we shall learn what we can. We will find the men who aided Petyr Baelish and his crimes against the people. The mountains become less treacherous by the day. Prepare your finest men. I wish to do as little damage as possible, but if we find them hiding in their castles, it may take a siege.”

The lords and lady at the table before him nodded. As he left the hall, he caught the image of the sun disappearing behind the mountains, and dreaded the night to come.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

Sansa yawned and rubbed her eye. Blinking back the water that had gathered there, she sat up and stretched, her embroidery falling to the window ledge in the rookery. She hoped Jon would like what she was making for him.

She held watch many hours of the day in this room. She was more or less the castle messenger at this point, for she was often found rushing about with tiny scrolls to various castle inhabitants.

It kept her busy and Dany indulged her in everything. She had complete freedom of the castle, and that also included the meetings the queen held in the Chamber of the Painted Table.

Sansa found herself growing extremely fond of the Targaryen woman. In the weeks they had been on Dragonstone, they had kept each other busy exploring the castle, which was fascinating in and of itself, but what she really enjoyed were the hours of talking and laughing that they shared.

It started out simple enough. Dany had known she was familiar with court life, but she had only truly realized that her knowledge was quite  so valuable once ravens came flocking in from all over the Seven Kingdoms with offers for Jon to marry this lady or that maiden. Sansa had calmly explained to Dany—and Missandei who often tagged along—why they were a good match or not. Missandei took extensive notes, for it was difficult to remember.

It had taken about a sennight for Dany to get completely comfortable with her. After all, she must have been truly relaxed to reveal that she was a little pervert.

Her eyes had been wide with surprise at the jest the queen had told, a jest she couldn’t even fully remember, just something about some guard that strutted about the castle and his cock being so small he had to make up for it with the size of his arms, which were so massive it actually disgusted all three ladies. They had laughed and laughed until they had cried, and then Sansa had listened to Missandei and Dany banter back and forth with much of the same type of conversation. They had left neither man nor woman unscathed as they talked of this woman’s teats or that man’s arse.

Sansa hadn’t believed the words had come out of her mouth until they had, and she had slapped her hands over her lips.

“Tyrion’s cock is ugly and purple!”

Dany hadn’t been able to breathe she had laughed so hard. Sansa giggled even now as she remembered the woman crying, “I’m going to piss myself!”

Now all three women made it a habit to spend their open hours with each other. Even when Missandei was busy running errands, Sansa and Dany talked and talked, sometimes late into the night, when the fires in the hearths had died down and their eyes had been heavy, but their hearts full of girlish dreams and their minds alive with possibilities and imaginings.

It reminded her so greatly of her long lost childhood.

Sansa’s room was connected to Dany’s. She had learned that the room the silver haired woman slept in had once belonged to Aegon the Conqueror himself. The room next door was attached by a slim door, for it was meant to be the room of the lord’s wife. Sansa had been scandalized at such a thing, for she had never heard of a lord and lady’s chambers being connected. Dany had smirked and tapped her on the nose.

“Do you think it’s normal for a lord and lady to sleep without each other at night?”

Sansa had bristled. “Of course... a lady sleeps in her own bed, as is proper.”

Dany had laughed so hard. Of course by then the wine had been flowing for quite some time. “Silly girl. What of those in love? Do you think your parents loved each other?”

Sansa knew they had. “Yes. They loved each other very much. All knew of it.”

“Do you think they spent the nights apart, lonely and cold?”

Sansa had known her lady mother had had her own room. It was where she dressed and kept her clothes and any of her lady’s things. But as Sansa thought of it, she could remember a younger version of herself, scared of the howling winds outside beating at her windows, and rushing to the room she knew her parents to be, and always snuggling between them.

It was something she hadn’t thought of in so, so long.

Even she herself had slept by her first and true husband Tyrion, her cousin Robert Arryn, and occasionally Harry would pass out next to her for a few hours before he would rouse himself to go to his own chambers.

Petyr had never slept with her at night.

“I believe that most arranged marriages do end up that way, Sansa. But some are luckier. Some cannot sleep at night without their mate at their side.”

Sansa had wanted to say more, but the distant look on Dany’s face had caused her to seal her lips.

The sun was setting. Through the huge windows at Dragonstone, she could see the sun sinking into the sea. The black rocks that jutted out here and there looked nearly orange and red from it, and it was beautiful to gaze upon.

She stood at the window for some time, until the sun was nearly gone. Castle guards and Unsullied walked by, but none bothered her.

She closed her eyes and drew in a long, cleansing breath through her nose. She held it for quite some time before she let it out, a smile on her face.

Since coming to Dragonstone, she had felt herself change. It was something like the changes she had started feeling at King's Landing, but now... it was more. She felt safe. In a way she hadn’t in years. There were no judgmental eyes. Only the eyes of the caring folk that lived here on this small volcanic island, people that had welcomed Daenerys with tears on their faces and praises of her name. Of Jon’s name. They loved the king and queen, for they had brought the Targaryens back to their home.

She swore she saw the flying form of a dragon off in the distance. It wouldn’t surprise her, for they had freedom to do as they pleased here, since there was no Dragonpit. Only huge brimstone caves that dotted the island.

She looked down at her hands holding the sill of the window. It was in the shape of a dragon, curling halfway up the window it was so long. But it wasn’t so much the dragon she noticed. It was the lack of bruises, cuts, and rope burns on her wrists and arms.

Although they had been gone long before they had even arrived at Dragonstone, sometimes she would still expect to see them. Sometimes, when she stood before her mirror in her room while Rehhi rubbed her with decadent oils, she would expect herself to be dirty, bloody, and ravaged.

Or to find her stomach swollen with a child.

Even now her hand touched the flat expanse of skin that lay beneath her gown, imagining what it would be like to have a child growing under her heart. To feel it move within her.

Three. Three babes she had lost. Two she had killed herself. Because of the hatred of a mere man.

She waited every day for word from Jon, to feel the finality of Petyr’s death. That his legacy had been destroyed. But it never came. He had gathered more men than she had thought necessary, from the Riverlands and the Vale, and even some from the areas around White Harbor. In his private messages to her, he told her why.

_After I am done with the Vale... we go North. To our home. To claim Winterfell in the name of Lady Sansa Stark, soon to be Warden of the North._

His words had filled her with hope and anxiety. To have her home back was a dream come true. But Jon expected so much from her... and she feared letting him down.

She wrote to him every day. Sometimes more than once, all weighing down the next poor bird able to make the flight to the Eyrie. He always wrote back, assuaging some of her doubts, but it wasn’t the same as him being here, by her side.

She left the window as the sun finally finished its decent. She wondered if Jon was watching it as well, and it helped her sad thoughts disappear.

Ser Barristan was standing without the lord’s chambers, where Sansa, Missandei, and Dany usually met before they went to sleep.

“Good evening, Lady Sansa. Her Grace is within, as always,” he said with a faint smile. She nodded her thanks, and stepped through the doorway, closing the door with a nearly inaudible click.

She strode around the length of obsidian wall that held a magnificent carving of a wyvern. Sansa always felt like it was staring at her every time she came into these rooms, and Dany had laughed at her, before she leaned in really close and whispered in her ear.

“Me too.”

The chambers were warmer than usual. She went to the windows in the area where the massive bed sat, opening them with surprising ease. The first time she had tried several days before, they had fought with her. She guessed someone had oiled the hinges.

She was drawing in a deep breath of the salt air when she heard weeping.

Her brow furrowed as she quickly made her way toward the sitting room, which was connected to the bedchamber by a large arched entrance.

The sitting room was brightly lit with candles and lamps. A fire was burning in the hearth, much more heartily than was needed now that it was growing warmer outside.

Beside it stood Missandei, and she was hovering over Dany. Who was the source of the crying.

She rushed to her queen’s side, falling to the floor beside her, next to Missandei. The younger girl’s eyes were watering, and Sansa could clearly see the sadness there.

She stroked Dany’s arm, then the soft tufts of hair on her head. When she lowered her hands from her face, she couldn’t believe how devastated the woman looked.

“What happened? Is it Jon? Did something happen?”

Dany sniffed several times and tried to wipe her face of her tears. Her eyes were red and swollen, and it was obvious she had been crying for some time.

“No, it’s not Jon. You would know before me if it were him, my little messenger lady.”

Sansa couldn’t help but grin, and Dany gave her a watery smile of her own. When the queen’s soft fingers touched her face, her smile fell. As did Dany’s.

“No one but my most trusted of friends knows that I am barren, Sansa. You are among those few. I... I had just hoped. Prayed. Begged the Old Gods, the New, even some of the gods from Essos... that I was somehow with child. I prayed that Jon’s seed had taken root within me, but the Gods have scorned me as they have so many times before. My moon blood has begun.”

Sansa felt her sadness. She had just been thinking of what it would be like to have a child of her own growing within her. They had been on this island for nearly a moon, and she tried to add up the days, but confusion struck her.

“We have been gone for some time, Your Grace. Surely you would have known sooner if you were not with child?”

Dany let out a half sob, half laugh. Missandei was stroking the queen’s back through her thin dress.

“My blood does not come regularly. There are times that I may go two moons without it. This was one of those times. I secretly hoped... had even gone to see Maester Pylos... but he was uncertain. He does not have the testing available here that the Grand Maester does. Despite lacking the tenderness in my breasts and the soreness in my hips as I felt with Rhaego, I had hoped maybe this time was different.” Her face fell back into her hands, and she shuddered for a few moments before she spoke again. “How I wanted it to be true. I wanted Jon to come home to me... I wanted to tell him he would not have to wed another. I wanted to see the wonder on his face as I told him we created life.”

Sansa swallowed the lump that was growing in her throat. The heartbroken woman before her tugged at her soul.

“Dany... you have been wed such a short time. You cannot give up hope—”

“I try. By the gods... I try. For Jon, I try. But I can’t wait. It is too risky, Sansa. Missandei has been with me for years... there have been multiple attempts on my life. Even since coming to King's Landing. Jon... he is a man. The people love him. He has never been threatened like I have. But he is the key. He has to marry another. I can’t risk him dying, and being the last Targaryen.”

Sansa didn’t really know what to say. Jon meant so much to her, and to see him so hurt by what Dany was doing made her want to defend him. But he was king... and she knew that when you were king, you didn’t always get to do what you wanted to do. And if Jon was anything, he was dutiful.

Could he ever forgive Daenerys? Would he do as she wanted? She had asked Ser Barristan the same thing.

Weeks later, she still did not have the answer.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note** : Please review :)

 


	29. Chapter 29

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone. I just wanted to post this chapter and give everyone an update. I don’t have good news.

 

My husband has cancer.

 

We found out two days ago. He will be starting treatment soon. They gave him a 50% chance.

 

I am totally destroyed right now, especially since I am nearing the end of my pregnancy. All I can do is be there for him at this point. Please keep me and my family in your thoughts <3

 

Thanks to Aiur.

* * *

 

 

Chapter Twenty Nine

 

Tyrion

 

If he had to look at another simpering female, he was going to vomit.

He couldn’t even believe he was thinking such a thing. So many beautiful girls, batting their long eyelashes at him, giggling and flirting as he spoke with them and their mothers in private. He was taking notes on their behaviors, looks, what houses they were from, and if he thought they would be a good match for the king consort of the Seven Kingdoms.

He was going through the weeds to find the flowers.

_Speaking of flowers..._

Lady Margaery entered with her aged grandmother, Lady Olenna. Margaery was stunning, in such a way that caused him to shift uncomfortably and be glad for the table he was sitting behind.

The Rose of Highgarden was even more beautiful than when she had been wed to Joffrey, if that was possible. There was a wiseness about her, experience perhaps. It lent an edge to her glowing complexion that the much younger girls did not have.

Her dress was a bright green, with a cream lace about her thin, square shoulders. White flowers were embroidered about the gown, and sparkled when caught in the light. Her breasts rose impressively above the neckline. She held herself in such a way that she knew how powerful she was, even as a woman.

He took several notes before she even spoke. He had known the girl well, and recalled many things from memory. He also took the time to take notes based on research he had done in preparation for her and other potential marriages.

_Born 283 AC, same age as Jon._

_Beautiful._

_Intelligent, politically savvy, familiar with court life._

_Married thrice, husbands all dead. Supposedly never consummated._

_Accused of adultery, found not guilty by judges of the Faith._

_Known to have no maidenhead from exam by septa._

“Lady Margaery, Lady Olenna. I am surprised to see you here.”

Indeed he was. The original purpose of having the young woman brought to King's Landing was to betroth her to Lord Ramsay of Winterfell, to quell him from marrying a Frey girl and further enraging the North. It was also a ploy to hold off any marriages until Sansa could retake Winterfell. It was a plot that the two were aware of... which made it unseemly for them to be here in his little interview process.

Since the ravens had left the rookery in King's Landing, women and girls of all ages had been arriving in droves. It sickened him to see such a thing, but it was as Daenerys wanted. She wanted her husband to have a choice of the woman he would wed to continue the Targaryen line.

So he had taken it upon himself to cull the ones in which he knew Jon would have no interest. He cared not one bit to see the girls and women crying as he shattered their hopes to marry a king. However much insulted they were, he was more insulted that so many families would bring their daughters forth to wed so far above their station. The stupidity of some of the girls was staggering enough as it was, it didn’t help that their fathers were hedge knights.

He was sure many of the minor houses of Westeros were not pleased with his actions, but he was also sure that Daenerys and Jon would be stressed to see thousands of undesirable candidates flocking about them, trying to win his favor. Instead of thousands, there would be hundreds.

_Have fun, Jon._

Margaery curtsied before him, and he scribbled another note. He had only ever seen one lady curtsey as perfectly as this one, and he thought of the gorgeous Sansa Stark only briefly before he smiled.

“Lord Tyrion, how lovely to see you,” she said in her soft tones. Tyrion wrote another note:

_Pleasant, dulcet voice._

“Lord Tyrion, I am here to present my granddaughter as a possibility for His Grace’s future wife. Seeing as how this farce of a betrothal will never occur, I refuse to let my dear girl slip through the cracks when this could be her chance to marry a true king. Not some buggering fool, some vile creature, some plump little boy—”

Margaery’s elegant fingers lightly touched Olenna’s sleeve. The motion was mesmerizing.

_Graceful,_ he wrote.

“Grandmother, Lord Tyrion understands, I’m sure.” She then stepped forward, coming closer to the table and his rock hard cock below. “But yes, my lord. I have met His Grace, and I think that he is a wonderful, kind man. He is strong, true like a knight. He fought to save Westeros, and I feel that I would be a suitable match for King Jon.”

_You are one of the first women that I agree with, my lady._

His fingers clutched the quill in his hand, and he hurriedly wrote more notes.

_Excellent negotiator._

He looked her over for several long moments, and she did not quake under his gaze as so many did. His face did not seem to scare her, and she was not intimidated by him. She was an impressive woman.

“Tell me, Lady Margaery. What are some of your hobbies? Favorite pastimes, if you will.”

The smile that bloomed on her face only made her all the more exquisite. His cock hurt.

_Damn you, Alestra._

“I enjoy hawking, riding, and spending time with the smallfolk. I am always involved with charity work. I often find myself outside, enjoying nature. Over the years, I have learned to appreciate the intricacies of what men must do to train to become a knight. I adore watching young boys and men learn the meaning of honor and valor. I am frequently discovered outside in the training yards, observing.”

_This woman could not be more perfect for a queen. It’s so perfect it can’t be real._

He sought to crack her flawless exterior. To find the darkness within. Either she was an excellent liar or really as wonderful a person as she said she was. Could it be both?

“Before I excuse you, I wanted to bring up your imprisonment at the Great Sept of Baelor. Do you mind speaking of your time there?”

She blinked several times, but remained firm. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and he noted that she squeezed her hands together, tightly. Lady Olenna snorted in the background, but remained silent otherwise.

“Of course, my lord. Anything you wish to know.”

He left briefly to return with a book. It was new, and smelled of fresh paste and leather. He flicked through some of the pages, until he found what he was searching for.

“You were accused of sleeping with a large number of men. Nine, in fact. Shall I list them for you?”

Her face brightened with a pink flush. It was very becoming.

“I do not remember all of their names, my lord. But I was falsely accused, as you know. I was pardoned by the Faith, and released. I remained queen consort until...”

He could see the sadness on her face. It seemed genuine. “Until Tommen was murdered. I apologize, my lady. I know it must be hard. What happened after my nephew was killed? I was not here, as you know. The whole time period is a bit vague for many and riddled with holes.”

Her face was now pale. She was still lovely despite it. “I remained here as long as I dared. Everything was falling apart. Cersei went mad when the message about her daughter came. The High Septon had control of the entire city at that point. Everyone was dying. Word had spread of what was happening at the Wall. Aegon was in the south with the Golden Company and a Dornish army and Daenerys was in the north with dragons and Unsullied. Everyone feared for their lives.” She twisted her hands together a bit. “Father came to me in the night, not alone. The riots were growing. People were trying to break down the gates and climb over the walls. The Maidenvault was not safe, he told me. And then... Loras. He was burned so horribly but loved me so. He saved me just in time. Cersei and my father were killed in the riots. Loras didn’t make it out either. He sacrificed himself for me, a true Kingsguard.”

Lady Olenna was staring at him, deadly thorns in her eyes. She went to her granddaughter’s side, squeezing her tightly.

Tyrion nodded. “Thank you, my lady. I needed to hear that. I am grateful that you were able to escape.”

He jotted down several more notes, both glad and depressed at the same time. Her words rung true. As she had been saved, his family had died. Her family as well.

“Lady Margaery, you impress me. As I am sure you will impress His Grace, King Jon. I permit you to be present at court during his selection process.”

Both women grinned, but they were significantly more cowed after Margaery’s admissions. As they left, he fell back into his chair. His thoughts went in every direction, thinking of a royal wedding and women and Alestra with their unborn child.

He was halfway to being drunk when Grand Maester Hyndyll appeared in his doorway with several messages. He permitted the old man to stay whilst he read, just in case he had to return messages.

For once it turned out that nothing was overly important. He drank himself into a stupor promptly.

 

* * *

 

 

Missandei

 

“It is so dark down here.”

They stood close together as they crept along the rocky walls, which were hot to the touch and dripped with water.

Out of all of them, Sansa seemed the least afraid to enter the caves and winding passages under Dragonstone. She had explained that it reminded her of the crypts beneath Winterfell, and it oddly felt like home, despite the warmth in the air.

Every few days the three of them explored further and further into the gloom that twisted about under the ancient Valyrian castle. Ser Barristan would tag along behind them for protection, but kept his distance as always, despite their shrieking at the oddest noises, afraid that a monster would jump out at them. His chuckles would calm their nerves.

Ghost, who hated the island, refused to join them. Sansa had tried to coax him to come, but he had snarled and bolted off. It had scared them initially that an animal that vehemently protected the three women would be afraid to enter, but after they went in, they found little to be afraid of.

The walls sparkled and shimmered with mica and obsidian of all colors. As the torchlight would float by, it reminded the women of a rainbow or exotic jewels. Dany spoke of the magic present at the castle, and said she could feel it in her body as she walked deeper into the caverns. Sansa had been quiet, and Missandei thought them both odd for their behavior. She personally disliked being down here, but did not want to abandon her friends.

They had been delving so deep into the winding passages that they had to mark their way so they would not get lost. Oftentimes they would twist back in on the path they had previously vacated, and Dany would draw on her crude map of the underground. It was rough, but it was good enough that they had always been able to relocate previous places they had visited. Her map was massive—weeks of searching making it difficult to keep the drawing together.

They had taken a familiar path on this particular day. It grew hotter the longer they walked. It went so deep that the heat made sweat trickle down her thin gown. Ser Barristan, in his armor, surprisingly never complained, but his face would be red by the time they returned above ground.

This time was different. This time they carried something precious.

All three of the women carried two eggs. Dany had denied Ser Barristan the burden, for he did enough for her. He had protested, but they had stared him down, and his lips had firmed before he nodded. He did, however, insist on carrying a large torch and brought extras with him, for the length of time spent underground had caused them to run out more than once.

“This way,” Dany said, her voice echoing down the channel. Missandei could feel the excitement in the air.

A fortnight before they had gone this deep and had heard the sounds of rushing water. They had searched for days, but had been unable to locate the source. Now, after weeks of searching, they knew they were getting closer.

Dany led them deeper than they had ever gone before. Twice she saw the vivid orange of a lava flow, and all four stared at it in wonder at a distance that was safe before they went on, Dany stopping occasionally to expand her map.

The feeling in the air changed quickly. It became thick with moisture and salt. The sound of roaring water grew only more intense. They could hear it and feel it, but could not see it.

The heat was intense this far underground as they reached a dead end. The walls radiated with it, and as they ran their hands over the rock trying to find anything, they had to be careful not to burn themselves.

Sansa gasped out of nowhere, startling them all. Ser Barristan was instantly near her, and they could all see where her hand had slid through a wall of brittle rocks.

Dany’s eyes were huge as she pressed against the opening, and it began crumbling away.

It was clear that the wall had been built up by man, not nature. The opening was thin, barely enough for them to slip through. But once they did, a small room opened before them featuring a large hole. The sound of water clearly came from it, but so did a mysterious blue radiance.

Without a word to each other, all three ended up running towards the sound of crashing of water.

The reverberation around them drowned out Ser Barristan’s call of distress, but it didn’t matter. When he caught them, he too, was silent.

“By the Seven...” he uttered, but only she heard.

It was a huge, open cavern.

And it _glowed._

She felt her heart pound deeply as she stared. A small, rushing waterfall fell out of a hole in the side of the cavern, crashing down far below into a large pool of water that sparkled like bright sapphire. It was a color she had never before seen or heard of, in all her studies.

The cavern was illuminated by it. She could see where the waterfall had slowly eroded its containment, and how the pool had changed sizes. There was another waterfall at the end of the small lake, where the overflow left and fell into darkness.

Then, far off to the right, magma tumbled thickly from a fissure in the rock, and disappeared again into another void. It was difficult to see so far away.

She turned to Dany and saw her lips parted in awe. Sansa looked much the same.

“Here,” Dany said, and they all nodded.

They were standing on an outcropping. There was an incline connected to it that ran along the wall... and it did not look natural. They held tightly to the bags carrying the eggs, and walked down the path as they descended towards the lake.

Ser Barristan’s torch flickered and fought the wetness in the air. For fear of losing the light, he left it behind with the extras.

They did not need it regardless.

Nothing seemed real. The ground was smooth and not slippery. The path was perfectly cut into the rock, all the way down to the pool that glowed the brightest blue she had ever seen. Even around it, the ground was flat, as if it had been carved out of the rock.

She gasped when Sansa wandered over to the pool, her free hand touching the water. She didn’t know what to expect—maybe her hand would melt or fall off, but no such thing happened. The color of the water didn’t change, but it concentrated around her fingers as they entered the water.

“It is warm,” she said, smiling back at them. “Just like the hot springs at Winterfell.”

They all moved to the water and did the same, Ser Barristan standing back and looking around warily, his hand on the hilt of his sword. His white cloak fluttered in the wind that the waterfall generated.

“I have never seen anything more beautiful than this,” Missandei admitted, placing the bag next to her so she could submerge both arms into the water. Her skin glowed blue in the water, but when removed, remained the same.

Dany stood then. “Let’s take care of the eggs. Then I say we should have a little dip.”

Sansa jumped up in excitement. “Oh, it will be just like when I was a little girl. We all got undressed and jumped in and splashed...”

She blushed then, and looked over at the knight guarding them. His face was placid, but then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “While I do not agree with any of you risking yourselves in such an unknown place, I am capable of turning around.”

They all giggled and Missandei saw the happiness on the old man’s face. She could tell it brought him pleasure to see the three of them enjoying themselves so much.

They broke apart to search for a place to hide the eggs. There were places barely touched by the blue glow, and they stepped carefully about, trying to find holes or anywhere that would be appropriate to place the eggs.

It didn’t take long for Sansa to call them over, her voice echoing from the distance. Her voice sounded odd, like a mixture of fear and amazement combined.

Missandei found her first. For the second time that day, she gaped, her mouth falling open.

It hadn’t been noticed in their awe of the blue water and the distance. But against the farthest wall of the cave, where the lava poured from the wall, was a magnificent carving the entire height of the wall, and nearly the whole length as well. It was only partially visible from the glow of the water, but so huge and breathtaking, it defied logic.

Daenerys and Ser Barristan found them shortly after. The words that came from Daenerys were low, and in Valyrian. Missandei did not catch them.

It was a monstrous carving of a dragon, with the bright orange lava pouring from its open mouth. It looked to be nearly alive it was so magnificently carved, the rock intertwined with red obsidian.

Black and red, the colors of House Targaryen.

Around the carving were many circles, and in the circles, Dany named them the gods of Ancient Valyria. She could only name four of the many, for the knowledge was lost or unknown to her.

“Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar, Syrax... and many others.”

Before the enormous engraving on the wall, stood a vast flat stone that was about hip high, made entirely out of blood red obsidian. It curled around the dragon and the gods, as if cradling them. The lava fell into a pit between the carving and the crimson table, and the air shimmered with heat. Everyone but Daenerys had to stand back for fear of the intense heat.

They stood before the stone, noticing shadows playing upon its surface in the reflection of the lava pouring from the dragon’s mouth. Dany ran her hands over the entire length, and when she reached the end, she stared at them, her eyes wide.

Missandei could not believe that her hands did not burn, but knew her to be the Unburnt.

“I do not know what this place is... but my eggs are meant to be here.” She drew in a deep breath that Missandei could only see, not hear, above the sound of the water and lava. “There are ten spaces along this stone table. Each carved into a shape that is clearly meant to hold an egg.”

They began removing the eggs from the bags. Dany arranged them in such a way that Jon’s white and grey egg was at the center. Then they all stood back and stared.

The huge dragon sculpture, with lava flowing from its gaping maw and surrounded by long lost deities was both dramatic and stunning. With the eggs placed before it, almost as if it was a shrine or a pedestal, it only looked even grander.

Dany held both her and Sansa’s hands as she stared in wonder. Then she turned to them and smiled.

“Let’s go swimming.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

He shook violently, gasping for air as he sat in his bed, his arms wrapped around himself.

His room was freezing. The fire had died sometime in the night.

His teeth were chattering, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the terror that had seized him in his sleep.

Their screams still echoed in his head.

He dropped his forehead into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair. It was finally long enough for him to run his fingers through again. The soft curls tickled his skin, and he welcomed the familiar sensation.

He didn’t welcome the memories of Sansa and Daenerys crying out for him as they were pulled into the darkness. Rotting, bony hands grabbed at them, tearing their clothes and flesh as they were dragged through the snow into an abyss of nothingness. Their screams would fill the air as their horror-filled eyes stared at him, begging him to save them, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t reach them.

And then they would be gone, and silence would fill the frozen air.

He had awoken shouting their names, his throat raw, and his arms reaching for them. But they weren’t there.

_I can’t do this anymore. I can’t._

He threw back the heavy furs on the bed that had once been Lysa Arryn’s. He hadn’t been able to stand the chambers that Sansa and Petyr Baelish had used. The objects that had been found within had not helped his nightmares.

Ropes, chains, whips... all sorts of devices and items that had been used to undoubtedly subject Sansa to various perversions.

He had ordered the castle torn apart to find what evidence they could of recent plots against Sansa’s life. Nothing of even minor importance had been located except in Petyr’s chambers, and those had been mostly sexual in nature.

He began throwing on his clothes. His shaking was finally calming, and he knew it was because he had finally made up his mind.

_Just one day. Maybe two. I need them both in my arms._

He tugged the leather belt about his hips and cinched it tight to hold his Valyrian steel sword. He then threw his black cloak about his shoulders, and strode swiftly from the room, startling the guards standing outside.

The Unsullied spoke not one word as they followed his quick pace. The castle was utterly silent except for their steps, which reverberated through the cavernous halls and walkways.

When he reached the great hall, dozens of men slept in rolls. He walked along the side of the room to avoid them, and then exited through a small side door to go outside.

There were tents as far as the eye could see. Dying fires filled the air with acrid smoke. Men patrolled with spears and swords, protecting the sleeping army Jon had gathered in the weeks since leaving King's Landing.

He knew exactly who he was looking for. The red and blue pavilion towered over most of the small, dull tents around it, and men in similar colors with a silver trout on their chests stood outside at attention.

They nodded to him as they parted the flaps, not even bothering to ask permission for him to enter.

Jon found Edmure Tully awake, surprisingly so. He had assumed he would be sleeping. But it brought to mind the seriousness in which Edmure was taking the situation at hand involving his niece.

“Your Grace. Is everything well?” Edmure asked, standing from a large table with maps laid upon it. There were markers for the armies they controlled, with different wooden sigils to name whom they belonged to. There were four large trout placed next to three red dragons, a single merman, and several other smaller houses, like Blackwood, Bracken, Darry, Mallister, Mooton, Piper, Strong, and Vance. Conveniently missing were the Freys, who Jon had told Edmure not to involve in this. There were also many different Vale lords present, and more were coming every day from the Riverlands. The small map was becoming overwhelmed with the wooden figures.

It had been such a splendid thing to order Edmure returned as the Lord Paramount of the Trident when they had been campaigning. Edmure had been released with his Frey wife and son, and found Riverrun conspicuously absent of the family of Emmon Frey. Jon had been too anxious to be present during the negotiations, and Daenerys had told him to make himself absent in light of it. She had not wanted him to muck up anything when he saw the family who had killed his own.

Edmure had called his banners the moment word had been received at Riverrun that help was needed at the Vale. Jon had been pleased to see Edmure only days after he had arrived at Darry, waiting for more men before they marched on.

The warm greeting he had received had been even better. Edmure had called him family, and had become serious at the mention of Sansa, who he said he would do anything for as the last child of his beloved sister, Catelyn. The men he had brought with him had attested to that, and Jon was exceptionally satisfied with the man.

“Lord Edmure, I must leave for two or three days. Word has come from Dragonstone that I am needed. I will leave you in charge.”

Although he was dressed in a blue velvet dressing gown meant for sleeping, the man drew himself up in such a way that it was difficult not to laugh. He looked like one of the fancy peacocks Jon had seen in Highgarden once before.

“I am honored, Your Grace,” he said as he bowed deeply.

“Jon, please. I consider you kin as well, Edmure. When I eventually return with Sansa, I know she will be overjoyed to see her uncle.” He smiled at the grin on Edmure’s face. “I won’t be gone long.”

Edmure nodded as he shook his hand and clapped his shoulder. He left the tent immediately after and was met with his silent guards once more.

He walked deeper into the camp, searching for a place that would be appropriate for Drogon to land.

His guards followed as he left the city of tents. The chill to the air was refreshing, but even here in the mountains, spring was coming.

He ordered his men to stand back as he found a small field with melting snow. Drogon had been mostly absent since he had come to the Vale of Arryn, and he had only received a few reports of her being spotted flying about. He had told the black dragon to stay near but to fly about as she pleased. The thorough sniffing she had given him had made him laugh before she had taken off with a loud shriek.

He honestly had no idea how he was going to do this. His experiences with the dragons, and mostly only Drogon in particular, were subconscious when it came to warging. He felt like it wasn’t even a full control, more like being... a part of her. The intelligence of the beast was great, and because they were such magical beings, he wasn’t sure if he could ever fully warg into Drogon like he could Ghost. He had also never tried. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to... but there was no other way.

He closed his eyes. He could feel Ghost, in the farthest reaches of his consciousness. It teased his senses, and he felt a brief pull that he had to fight.

He nearly fell over when he came back to himself. He drew in a deep breath, trying to figure out how he could find Drogon and have her come to him.

The temptation to yell for her was on the tip of his tongue, but he imagined the guards behind him would find it hilarious. A king shouting for a dragon to come here, like a dog.

He closed his eyes again. He tried to picture himself reaching out along the mountains, running over them and finding the black dragon. Instead, as colors flew by him, a blur of snow and trees, he felt other things. He felt the presence of others. Rabbits, deer, bears. He felt their minds, their bodies. He felt the strength of them as he passed over them, trying to find the object of his search.

The lands rushed by quicker. He felt like he was floating. He could feel his heart pounding, could feel sweat trickling down the side of his face. A hawk cried as he touched its mind, and he gasped as he melded with the bird of prey unintentionally.

His hands fisted at his sides as he soared high overhead of the lands of snow and rock. His superior eyesight could see things he never imagined. It was like Ghost’s hearing, so powerful that it was hard for his human mind to comprehend, except this time, it was his vision. He could see colors he had never before experienced as a man. He could see the shimmering edges of small snowflakes floating in the air, could see the design and shape of them as they fluttered by.

He could almost feel the heartbeats of the small creatures below him. He could smell them. It reminded him of Ghost yet again—that predatory instinct common with hunters in the wild. His heart beat along with the hawk’s, and he flew for an unknown amount of time, not wanting to stop. The feeling of flying was incredible.

Then he found her. There was a cave in the side of a snow-covered mountain, the opening huge with enormous icicles dripping from the heat inside. He could see her tail hanging out of the entrance.

The hawk cawed in fear and tried to turn away, and Jon felt himself fighting the creature. Leaving Ghost was often hard; he would usually feel so comfortable that he would forget who he was unless he really concentrated. Sometimes becoming part of Ghost was unconscious, especially in his sleep. But this was his first time ever trying it with another creature, and he felt like he was ripping himself apart trying to leave the bird.

His knees hit the ground, and he fell forward, breathing hard as he finally separated from the hawk. He had to force himself to continue on towards the cave, for his mind wanted to end it. His temples pounded and his stomach felt sick as he finally reached her.

His experiences with warging and Drogon were only when he was unaware. They had only been during moments of exhaustion or slumber, and they had been more like seeing through her eyes. They were not a complete emersion like it was with Ghost.

He inhaled sharply as he touched her mind. She had been sleeping, and she instantly snapped awake at his presence. She felt familiar, almost like Ghost, and completely unlike the hawk. The acceptance was surreal, and he felt as if he joined her with no hesitation.

He was a dragon.

The power was... indescribable.

And then it was too much.

He couldn’t breathe. He felt like his chest was being crushed. His mind felt like it was melting. He gritted his teeth as he felt every inch of his body burning.

_Drogon, I need you!_

He collapsed in the snow, the dragon tearing herself away from him. In the last moments of his connection with her, she screeched, as if acknowledging him.

His guards were standing next to him when he came back to himself, uncertain if they should help him or not. He accepted their aid to stand and brushed the mud and melting snow off with his hands. The men remained silent as they backed away, and he appreciated it. He couldn’t imagine what they would think when... if... Drogon appeared.

He watched the dark sky for some time. It was hard to see anything with the cloud cover. The more time that went by the more apprehensive he became.

Then he heard her. A big smile stretched across his face as her cry filled the air.

_I did it. I called her and she came._

The ground shook when she landed. It had been over a moon since he had arrived in the Vale of Arryn, and he swore that the beast had grown in the short amount of time they had been apart.

He checked all of the equipment to see if it had held up well in the time she had been gone. The saddle was tight, and with the help of the Unsullied, he managed to loosen it. The leather was thicker than the saddle she had worn previously, and slightly frozen. He wouldn’t have been able to do it on his own.

He spoke to the guards briefly before Drogon took off into the freezing night air. If he estimated it correctly, he could be at Dragonstone by evening.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : Please review. I could use some happiness!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy and fears...

**Author’s Note** : I want to thank everyone for their support and kind words over the last few weeks as I found out my husband has been diagnosed with cancer. I am almost 35 weeks pregnant, so it has become a bit precarious as to whether or not he will actually be able to be at the birth. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

 

Side note, HOW ABOUT SEASON 6 HUH? Anyone else scream hysterically like me in the last two episodes? Hahaha. I have to say, most of what felt the best to me was being RIGHT about so many theories for so many years.

 

Long live R + L = J!

 

Thanks to Aiur!

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty

 

The Lost Queen

 

 

The day had been long.

They had spent the entire day in the dark passages under Dragonstone, after having discovered the ancient stone carving and the incredible glowing pool. It had taken so long to even get to the place, and they had spent much longer down there than they had assumed. By the time they had come back to the surface, the sun had been setting and they had been starving.

Rehhi sang a Dothraki song, and Sansa would occasionally catch herself doing it along with her, for it was a nightly routine. She was resting in a stone basin that had been shaped into a circular tub, and it was filled with steaming water. She allowed Rehhi to wash the salt from her long hair, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the older woman’s caring, but firm touch.

The last person who had washed her hair was dead by her own hand. A flash of the face of Morella made her jolt upwards, and she apologized to Rehhi as the woman cursed her loudly in Dothraki, tapping her on the shoulder and making her flinch. It didn’t hurt, though.

She was tired. Her body was sore. But it had been a wonderful day, spent with her friends.

_Friends. I haven’t had friends in so long._

It made her think of Mya Stone and Myranda Royce. Two women that had been quite dear to her. They had been friends with her long before they had known who she was, and had accepted her still once they had found out. But they had known too much. Petyr hadn’t trusted them.

_And now they are gone._

Rehhi clucked at her skin as she rubbed her with the scented oils she applied every evening. They had gone swimming in the shimmering cerulean pool, and the water had been salty like the sea. They had felt itchy the whole trek back, but they had been extremely relaxed and happy despite it all.

Rehhi’s hands stroked up her stomach to her breasts, and Sansa closed her eyes as the older woman massaged her flesh gently. She had never been touched by another in such a way, and had been insulted by the Dothraki customs initially. Now, as Rehhi kneaded her shoulders, she wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Rehhi dressed her in a long white dressing gown and braided her hair loosely. She thanked her and dismissed her. She was left with a chaste kiss on her cheek, and she smiled sleepily.

She was nearly asleep when she heard a shout. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright in bed, the sound coming from Daenerys’s chambers.

Her hand immediately reached for the drawer beside her bed, where her small knife was hidden. Dany and Jon had given it to her after her first attack in King's Landing, saying that no woman should be defenseless.

She leapt from the bed in her haste to get to the small door that connected their rooms. The cry came again, and she opened the door, swift and silent.

Her free hand flew to her mouth to catch herself from yelling Daenerys’s name.

The woman in question was lying on her back on the dining table, naked, thrashing, and crying out.

And Jon was between her legs.

She felt blood rush to her cheeks. Her fingernails dug into the skin of her face as she gaped with wide eyes.

She couldn’t stop staring. They were at an angle that they could see her if they turned their heads, but they were both so incredibly absorbed in each other that they had no idea they had an observer.

Her heart pounded fast and hard. Her hand fell away to clutch at her chest and the knife, and she watched Dany throw back her head, her round breasts bouncing, her hands seizing Jon’s shoulders. He grunted as she moaned loudly, and Sansa felt strained. The sight of Jon’s hips thrusting forward, his body moving quickly as Dany pulled him down to kiss her, had her shaking.

Then he stopped. Her hand flew back to her mouth as he pulled himself out of Dany, and she didn’t think her eyes could get any wider when she saw exactly what was between his legs. His manhood was long and hard, and it was glistening with wetness, the so-called desire that Petyr had told her about and had cursed her for not having. For being a broken woman.

Dany flipped herself over on the table, wiggling her plump bottom in the air and lifting herself up on her tiptoes, as if asking Jon to take her that way.

Jon’s hands took hold of her hips, lifting her clear off the floor, and buried his cock into her again. Sansa felt her knees tremble. Dany cried out as Jon’s pace quickened, and she watched the woman writhe on the table before she started screaming hoarsely.

She hurriedly closed the door. There was no sound of a click, and she gasped in desperation as she ran back to her bed, in shock. The knife was flung into a far off corner, and she heard it clatter.

_Oh Gods, what have I done?_

She had just intruded into such a private moment. She had thought someone was hurting Daenerys, and her first thought had been to save her. There had been no hesitation.

But Jon had returned and had been...

She closed her eyes and shoved her fist into her mouth as she tried to keep herself from sobbing. She had stared like a whore. She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from their bodies moving against each other.

She laid awake for what seemed like forever. She couldn’t stop thinking of Jon and Daenerys coupling.

_I... I didn’t know..._

She had thought the act that produced children was such a sweet, loving thing when she was young. That it brought people together who loved each other and made babies. When Harry had taken her maidenhead, it had hurt and had been awful. She had bled and he had been unkind to her when all she had wanted were gentle words. The next few nights she had been sore and it had been difficult to keep her cries muffled.

After she had healed, it hadn’t been as bad. He would undress her, play with her a bit and show her what he liked. It had been the first time she had been introduced to getting on her knees to pleasure a man. She hadn’t minded much, for it had pleased her handsome husband. Then he would stick himself inside her, and she would lay there as he heaved over her, until he emptied himself inside her. He had never said anything or explained much to her, and she would often feel hollow afterwards.

Then there was Petyr. He had tried to teach her the ways of his brothel whores. He would accept no less from his wife. He expected her to perform as one, act like one, and be one in private with him.

But he had sickened her. The man she had once called father had changed and grew to hate her. After he had discovered Mya giving her moon tea, it had never been the same. It was like he had twisted into a monster that hated her.

She honestly had no idea that women could enjoy such a thing as Daenerys obviously did. Randa had been so naughty, always talking about wanting men to ravish her and being thrilled with the concept. Sansa had been excited as well, for it sounded like something enjoyable, but she had never imagined it being like _that._

She had thought for so long that how it had been with Harry and Petyr was the only way it could be.

_Now I know..._

Jon had been making love to Daenerys. The real way. Not the false way she had experienced. Despite the loudness and the wildness in which the pair had come together, it was clear both had been experiencing ecstasy. They’d had eyes only for each other, and had no clue she had been gaping at them, frozen.

She felt something low in her belly pulse. She clenched her thighs together unconsciously, having never felt such a thing.

She lay there for so long, she had no idea when she finally fell asleep. But when she did, she could only see Jon and Dany moaning into each other’s mouths, whispering sweet things to one another as Jon’s hips thrust between Dany’s legs. She watched so long she felt as if she was Dany, and her body was hot, needy in a way she had never felt before. Her skin tingled, and cries came from her throat that weren't forced, but real. It was real. It didn’t hurt. She gasped at his touch, his fingers upon her desperate body, his lips caressing hers, his tongue in her mouth. She whimpered, both wanting it and being afraid of what she was feeling. She had never felt this way before...

She bolted upright, her chest heaving and her body drenched in sweat.

_It wasn’t real._

She collapsed back on the bed, her eyes watering. She curled up on her side, feeling the same hollowness she had felt after coupling with Harry. She felt empty, disappointed in a way that she could not explain.

She fell asleep with tears upon her cheeks.

The dreams returned. But they weren’t the same. They were familiar, but in a way she hadn’t felt in some time.

_I’m running._

_The world was rocky, but she was strong. She could leap far and sprint with skillful legs. She felt powerful, capable in a way she hadn’t felt in so long._

_Her heart pounded fiercely. She could smell something. It was near, and she was hungry._

_She could feel her mouth salivate. Her nose filled with the scent of blood, her ears could hear a beating heart. Base urges filled her, and she felt her lip curl in a snarl as she ran after what she sought._

_The rocks under her feet meant nothing in her pursuit. The creature fled, but was no competition._

_She could see it. Could nearly taste its flesh in her jaws. Her body hummed as she leapt, and her sharp teeth ensnared the small animal._

_It squealed for only a moment before she wrenched its neck, ending its life and its suffering. Then she fed._

_Blood flooded her mouth and bathed her tongue. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, for she had not felt such a thing in so long. The pleasure of hunting, of being a—_

_She was shoved. Or at least that’s what it felt like. She fought to maintain control, but she was being pushed away. Another presence touched her, touched them, and she gasped at the feeling. It wasn’t an invasion, but it was clearly not pleased to find her at first contact._

_Then it was gentle. It was no longer a shove, but a guide. Instead of being forced to leave, she was kindly shown the way out, as if she was exiting a room._

Then she felt darkness.

She slept.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

“Sansa needs to come with me.”

Dany had been overjoyed to see him open her door, and had in fact flung herself from the bed and flew through the air as if she was a real dragon, but he had still caught her, laughing. Their reunion had been sweet and passionate, and they had stayed up half the night to show each other how much they had missed one another. Now though, Daenerys was not happy with him.

“No. You will not subject her to that. I refuse to let you take her.”

He could hear something in her voice. She looked tired, and despite the glow about her skin, there were circles under her eyes. Their lack of sleep had taken a toll on her. She had told him of their adventures below Dragonstone and how exhausted she had been before he had arrived. He had felt bad, but she had shown him exactly how much she didn’t mind.

He pressed his lips to hers. He meant for it to be relatively innocent, but she would have none of that. He chuckled when he finally pulled away, his fingers running through the short, soft tufts of hair on her head. She looked adorable with her hair this way.

“Sansa will never be at risk. She won’t leave my side a single moment. You have my word.”

She was frowning severely. “I expected this whole mess to be over with by now. I can’t believe that this is even an issue at this point. These suspects should already be dead.”

Jon felt otherwise. “Dany… you and I both know that Petyr’s henchmen deserve death. But without proof…”

Her eyes burned with anger. “I am the queen. I demand their heads. I care not of the ways of Westeros—”

“You can't do that. You will never be respected if you just take lives without proof. We need witnesses, we need—”

“Sansa is not proof enough? Jon, I have seen her unclothed… she is riddled with scars! They might be faded, but they are there if you look hard enough. She would not be so traumatized if it wasn’t for him. The things she’s told me… even briefly, just in mention… it terrifies me. The men loyal to Petyr were evil, just like him.”

He caressed her flushed cheek. He wanted to calm her ire. He wanted Ser Lyn Corbray and Ser Harlan Hunter dead as much as her, if not more if they were truly the ones behind the abduction attempts on Sansa. But so much was unknown. “Dany… it must be done. I will protect her with my life. Is that what you are worried about?”

She turned her face to the side, and he wasn’t sure if she was afraid to say something or was unsure. “I don’t know… she has been so happy here, Jon. She’s a completely different person. I have... grown close with her, in your absence.”

Jon felt warmth spread within him. He had hoped that the two would become friends. Sansa needed someone to care for her, especially with him being gone. “I’m glad. It makes it easier knowing that you two aren’t constantly pining away for me.”

She glared at him, and then slapped his shoulder. But she ended up looking up at him through her eyelashes and caressing the minor hurt. He kissed her again. “She pined more than I did, I believe. She sat in the rookery almost all day if we weren’t exploring the castle or the underground passages. She has become very attached to you.”

“Well so much for not making me feel bad for leaving...”

She pinched his cheek, scoffing. “You are her only family. All she has, really. I know you were not close as children, but it seems like your new relationship has helped both of you. I am glad that she will have support when it comes time for her to become the Warden of the North. She will have the full backing of the crown.” Her eyes, such a vivid violet this morning, darkened with sadness. “Do you think it will... be hard for her to go back there? I don’t want her spirit to be broken again. She has become so much stronger here.”

He pulled away from her to walk to the table. He had ravished her upon that surface last night, but they had replaced the paperwork upon it a short time ago. He shuffled through some scrolls and parchment absentmindedly.

“Sansa has been through much. But if she wants to be the Lady of Winterfell, then she will need to show the strength I know she has deep down inside. She might have been broken, but she can be rebuilt. She is a direwolf, Daenerys. She was lost, but is found. I know she can do it.”

Her arms wrapped around him from behind. He felt her head rest upon his back. “Just like you.”

He hadn’t told her the reason for his return. That his nightmares had been unbearable. Watching her and Sansa being taken from him every night had been destroying him inside. It hurt him to hear Dany’s words, because without her, he felt weak. Craven.

“I can remain today. But I will leave on the morrow. With Sansa.”

He felt her draw in a deep breath. “I understand.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

"Jon will be traveling to the North as soon as he is done with the issues in the Vale. Lady Sansa Stark will be returning with him to garner support for her cause. Jon will help her with that, and then he will return."

Margaery looked dismayed and Lady Olenna was displeased. "Lord Tyrion, the boy can be gone for ages. Years. Do you really want all these wenches cavorting about King's Landing waiting for him?"

Tyrion watched the pair with narrowed eyes, wondering what was going on. "Why exactly do you care?"

Lady Olenna harrumphed. "My dear girl here has seen twenty name days, my lord. She is a spinster, whether we want to admit it or not. She's been wed three times with nothing to show for it. There just simply cannot be anymore waiting. She must be wed soon." Her old, faded eyes nearly burned a hole through him in their intensity. "Let us not pretend, shall we? Margaery is perfect for him. No other girl in the Seven Kingdoms could come close to her beauty, intelligence, and experience. Her hips are wide and the women in her family are proven breeders. She will produce many children for the Targaryen line. Don't lie to me and tell me that's not why the queen wants King Jon to wed another woman. She wants Targaryens to flood the Keep."

Tyrion was impressed. The shrewd old woman saw through nearly everything.

"What do you want me to do? Send the girl up North? Expect Jon to court and wed her there amongst war?"

Both women smiled brightly. "Yes."

He needed more wine for this. "Lady Margaery is—"

"Experienced with war. Do not forget that she was married to that buggering fool Renly while he pranced about the Seven Kingdoms. She is not stupid, my lord. She would be an asset to King Jon and Lady Sansa. This would be a perfect opportunity. Send us North under the pretense of meeting Lord Ramsay in preparation for the wedding. Undoubtedly the fool will have learned by now, or soon, that he is about to be dispossessed. Margaery could be the tool needed to either lure him out of Winterfell or even make him think that she truly wants to wed him, seeing as how she travelled that far. It will make him question things, Lord Tyrion. He will think he has the backing of Highgarden. In the meantime, she can be properly acquainted with King Jon, get a head start on this whole courting business, and come forth as the victor."

The woman was ruthless. "It is not known how long it will take Jon to finish in the Vale. He was gathering an army for certain possibilities, and then some of that army will then travel to White Harbor. Would you be willing to meet him there?"

Margaery's face brightened. "I would do anything for my king, Lord Tyrion."

_Of course you would. If you were anyone else, I would never allow this to happen. But Daenerys is desperate for heirs, and this woman would make an excellent breeder, which is all the woman would end up being. A brood mare. Poor thing._

"You will leave under the pretense of meeting Lord Ramsay, as stated earlier. This will be kept under strict confidence, what we are planning, do you understand?"

Lady Olenna's aged face couldn't have looked more wicked. "Of course. My dear girl here will be the epitome of well-behaved and generous. We will travel to the North with a southern entourage, under the name of Lord Ramsay, and spread charity in our wake. By the time we reach the North, Lord Ramsay will think he is expecting a goddess, and that he shall be a god. He will never know what hit him."

Tyrion chuckled. If the old woman had held a glass of wine, he would have clicked his to hers. Devious creature.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

Whenever Jon arrived in the rookery, which she knew would be soon, she knew she must pretend like she didn’t know he was at Dragonstone. She had fled to her stone bench in the rookery, where she was found almost every morning, to await word from him. She hoped her predictability would make everyone think she had no idea he was there.

But now her face was betraying her. She had just noticed that he was standing in the doorway, and she didn’t know how long he had been there, watching her work at her stitching. When she had felt an odd tingle on the back of her neck she had turned, only to see him standing there, leaning against the entranceway.

"Jon," she gasped, her face flaming.

_Oh gods, don't give it away!_

"Hello, Sansa."

_Oh, what should I do? What would normal Sansa do? The Sansa who hadn't seen his..._

She bit her lip hard to snap herself out of her uncertainty. She knew exactly what she should do.

She dropped her embroidery and leapt into his arms. The ravens squawked at the sudden movements, but she ignored them.

His arms were so strong and sure around her. Thoughts of him with Daenerys floated away. His smell and feel overwhelmed her, and she felt herself melting into his embrace.

_Safe. Home. Jon._

"I missed you so," she said, blinking back a sudden sting in her eyes. His hold tightened, and she swore she felt him tremble. His hand, gloved as always, buried itself in the hair on the back of her head, and she felt him inhale deeply. His chest expanded and pressed against hers, and she squeezed him tighter. His hold seemed desperate, not kind or comforting as it usually was. It felt more like she was holding him, rather than him holding her.

_Something is wrong._

"I needed to come back. I missed you and Dany too much."

She pulled back, but his hand remained in her hair. She could feel his fingers combing through the loose strands gently, over and over again. She gazed up at him, her smile long gone. She abruptly realized why he was back.

_The men... Lyn Corbray... Jon Lynderly, Gerold Grafton, Harlan Hunter... so many others._

She had never thought of it a single time, for her mind had been filled with other thoughts after his unplanned arrival. "Is it... is it over? Are they... did you find..."

The happiness on his face fell. Her stomach constricted. His hold loosened, but he did not let her go. "No."

She didn’t know how to feel. She was so conflicted over everything; it was just easier for her to pretend it wasn’t real. That she was someone else, not that girl who had been Petyr's bed slave. Not someone who had once been manipulated, bloodied, abused, and paraded about as a plaything. But even as she was thinking of how she didn’t know how to feel, pain swamped her. Her throat wanted to close. While her mind did not know, her body did.

"I... did you pardon them?"

Jon's face filled with disbelief. His smoky eyes went so wide she would have laughed any other time. "No! Never, Sansa. I would never do that to you. I promised I would punish anyone involved with Petyr, that they would meet their end for what he did to you, to our family. No one involved in that type of evil deserves to live."

She felt cold. Hurt. She couldn’t describe it all. Knowing people that had helped devise so much misery were still alive made her sick. No one but her truly knew the horrors of what had been committed in the Vale with Petyr as lord. And even she knew that things had been hidden from her, especially towards the end.

"Then why are you here?"

_Why would you come back unless they were dead? That everything was safe and happy in the Vale? What reason could there possibly be? Did something bad happen?_

"Sansa... please, don’t be mad at me."

_Did you come back just to make love to Daenerys?_

The pleading in his eyes disturbed her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but him being there felt wrong.

"Why are you here, Jon? Why would you just leave? You swore to me that you would avenge—"

"And I will! Sansa, please. I—we—are going back. I couldn't stay away any longer. I couldn’t..."

Her heart pounded. Her fingers shook on his arms. "Did Lyn Corbray escape? Did he flee? What of Lord Lynderly? Is that why you're here? Just tell me the truth. Who did what? Did something horrible happen?"

_Why am I acting this way?_ _Just let him speak. There is a reason._

His face was pale. His eyes looked like coal. He was trembling. She didn’t understand his reaction. She just wanted to know why he had come back without performing his duty. That Dany wasn’t the only reason why he came back.

He was quiet so long she nearly screamed. But then his hand, often unsure when it came to touching her, reached for her cheek, never once wavering. "I couldn’t do it anymore.” She felt her eyebrows turn down in confusion, her heart refusing to be still within her chest. And then he continued. “Gods, Sansa… if you knew the nightmares I had, you wouldn’t be able to survive.”

She gasped, both shock and anger flooding her. Something deflated within her and died. He dared to speak of nightmares? When that's all her life had been for years?

She tried to jerk away, but he held firm. It took everything in her not to fight him, as his strong hold immediately filled her with fear. It reminded her too much of Petyr, never letting her go when she just wanted to flee. She clamped down on the panic, for she knew Jon would never hurt her. It took everything within her to control the terror that was dredged up.

Bile clung to the inside of her throat. "I can't believe you would say such a thing. How would you feel to be raped every night as you close your eyes? To feel filthy hands upon your skin? To cry and beg for help but to know that no one will help? To be naught but a play thing for someone stronger, someone smarter than you? How dare you, Jon—you will never know! You will never—!"

His shock was enough to force him to let her go. She nearly stumbled it was so sudden. "Sansa, please, I didn't mean it that way—"

"Then just tell me! You shouldn't be here! What other reason could there possibly be? What are you hiding from me? I have told you so much; have spilled secrets no one else knows..."

_Could it really not just be Daenerys? Perhaps he really had wanted to see me._

His jaw clenched. His hands fisted at his sides. He drew in a deep breath and lifted his gaze from the floor. His eyes were filled with such emotion it made her inhale sharply and shut her lips around the other words that wanted to come. "I can't even begin to tell you the problems I have, Sansa.” He looked away again, clearly no longer able to hold his gaze upon her own hurt eyes. Instead, he stared off into an empty birdcage. She continued to watch his face, hoping to see what she needed.

“I've been killed and brought back to life. I've fought for years in war. I've lost everything. Or thought I did. That is why you are so precious to me." Her fingers flew to her mouth at his words. His shoulders, always seemingly strong, sagged. He looked at her again. His eyes were so desolate, she wanted to go to him. To give him the comfort he had given to her in her own weak moments. "Daenerys is the only one who really knows what is wrong with me. How absolutely ruined I am. My nightmares, Sansa… they control my life. And Dany has been the only comfort I have found. Having her at my side at night calms the terrors. I can almost feel normal at times because of her."

He stepped closer to her again, and she allowed him to draw her against him. She couldn’t fight him after that confession. Especially when he needed her.

_It was Daenerys after all. But how can I be mad at him for that..._

"I saw too many things when I was in the Vale. I could see everything that he did to you, Sansa. Every night I dreamt that you were being tortured by him. Or that the Others were killing you. It always ended in your death. I couldn't sleep anymore. I couldn't handle it. I had to come back. To see you and Dany, to make sure my girls were safe."

Her heart pounded and her face flushed at his words. It felt like all of her anger just melted away. All of the uncertainty, the fear, everything.

_He needed me, too._

"I'm... I'm sorry I was so mad. It's just… him. Them. I'm so afraid. I didn't know you were having those problems, Jon. Forgive me."

_I didn’t know that you were as broken as me._

His Stark eyes were so intense. He was the only person she was unafraid to look at, to watch. Eye contact was something she struggled with since leaving Petyr, and she was only just starting to be able to do it with others.

His lips pressed to her forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned into it. He was warm. Her heart calmed.

"I can't stay long, Sansa," he said softly, stroking the back of her head. She was glad she had worn her hair down that day.

"No," she whispered, pulling away again to see him. "You just got here..."

_Don’t leave me again. Please. I need you too._

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'm bringing you with me."

She blinked several times, astonished. "W-what?"

He took her hand and led her to the ledge where she had dropped her stitching. "We need to talk, Sansa."

She nodded weakly and sat, and he laid it all out before her, in detail.

They were going to leave the next morning to go to the Vale. Petyr's remaining men and their whereabouts weren't entirely known, but they had reports of them fleeing to various places within the Vale with their personal armies. Guards remaining at the Gates of the Moon had informed Jon and his men with what they could, but little was known. The weather was still too turbulent in many places to get information through.

It was possible that trials would be held. Sansa drew in a deep breath at that, for it meant she would need to talk and reveal things she did not wish to. Jon's hand held hers tightly in support.

Once Petyr’s henchmen were found guilty, they would die. Sansa felt sick at the thought. She didn't know why. Maybe it was just the whole situation.

After the issues in the Vale were resolved, they would leave for White Harbor. In preparation for her to retake the North.

She felt even sicker. "I don’t think I can do it, Jon. No one would follow me..."

His face became stern. It reminded her immediately of the Jon she had seen before they had left the capital. He looked like a king. "Nonsense. You are Sansa Stark, soon to be the Lady of Winterfell. You have gone through the Seven Hells, Sansa. You are alive and well. You are strong. You will prove it to yourself when you are back in the North. I know you will." His hold on her hand grew nearly painful. She welcomed it. It grounded her. It reminded her of her vows to herself.

_I am not your daughter. I am not your wife. I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Winterfell. Blood of Winterfell._

_And the North will remember._

"If you want to avenge our family you are going to have to show the men of the North that you are a true Stark. They will not follow a weak woman, Sansa. You know that most houses of the North would do anything to see a Stark back in Winterfell. Ramsay has done terrible things. While we fought at the Wall to keep the white walkers from invading the south, he stayed comfy in the castle. He's killed so many people. He is a monster. You can't let him terrorize our people anymore. Your people."

Her eyes watered at his words. She felt the pain of the North. She wanted to help them, she just didn’t know how she could. "I've never led anyone before. I don't even know how to do it. I was raised a lady, Jon. Petyr might have shown me… he showed me how to manipulate and influence, but that doesn't make me a leader. The houses in the North will see a little girl who has been in the south and hasn't been home in years, expecting to take back something meant for a man. Why would they ever follow me? They will see me as a southron flower. Like my mother."

His gloved hand wiped away a tear that had fallen. "No they won't. They will see you in a way you don't see yourself. As someone who has overcome. A strong, capable woman. You don’t see it, but others do. It will take time, but I will be there. You will learn. Even your mother did, Sansa. She was respected. It took time, but she was. When we go home, you will feel it in your blood again. I promise. The wolf inside will come out, Sansa."

A faded memory flashed through her mind of running through the cool night air. Of her teeth burying into flesh. The taste of blood on her tongue. Her heart hammered in her breast, and she drew in a shaky breath. Her eyes lifted to his. "You make me feel like I can do anything," she murmured, smiling, and leaned forward, her cheek pressing against the brown leather of his tunic. His arms wrapped around her, and his head rested against the hair on top of her head.

"Everything that happens from here on out will be difficult, Sansa. Whatever I tell you to do, there is a reason. It will make you stronger. You will learn, just as I had to. As I do, every day. We will do it together."

"Of course, there is the matter of getting there.” Sansa gasped as she jerked back, not expecting another voice. Dany stood nearby, dressed in a tight-fitting leather outfit, a smile on her face. She placed her hands on both of their shoulders and then knelt on the dirty floor, uncaring of the filthy stones caked in bird droppings as she embraced them both. "I once told myself that no one other than family shall ever ride my dragons again." Dany's purple eyes shined as she looked up at her.

"But you are family, Sansa. Jon's family. Mine. Never forget that. We are here for you."

 

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : I love and welcome any thoughts, comments, questions, and discussions! One of the biggest joys in my life is talking about the books and the show, so please never hesitate to ask me or talk to me about anything!

 

Thank you again to all of my fans and their kind words and prayers!


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becoming free...

**Author’s Note** : Hey everyone! Again, thank you so much for your thoughts and prayers for my family. It truly does mean a lot.

 

I have actually taken to writing again despite being massively pregnant and everything going on with my husband. Not sure what happened, but I broke through my writer’s block and actually wrote about two chapters over the last two weeks! I’m hoping I can pump out as much as I can before I have this baby (which can be any time!) and hopefully be able to write more while on maternity leave.

 

Enjoy!

 

Thanks to Aiur <3

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter Thirty One

 

Daenerys

 

She had known for some time that Sansa was going to leave on Drogon’s back with Jon. It was much quicker and more efficient. It would have taken an obscene amount of time to take a ship, then travel through the mountains of the Vale, then possibly ascend the mountainside to the Eyrie to get to Jon. It was just much easier for Jon to retrieve her and ride together on dragonback.

She just never mentioned it to Sansa.

The poor girl’s face was currently aflame. Rehhi and Yeta were chattering and cackling as they adjusted the leather bustier Sansa was wearing.

_This girl’s teats impress me more every time I see them._

“Dany,” the red-haired beauty whined. It made her smirk. “You can’t expect me to wear this. Men will stare at me.”

_I am staring at you._

She walked over to the group and brushed aside the handmaidens. She knew that Sansa was used to the Dothraki women by now, touching her and grabbing her, and had little problem cupping the overflowing mounds to help her adjust them a bit better. Sansa’s face, if it was possible, got even redder. Her skin nearly matched her hair.

“You should love your breasts, Sansa. They are a weapon against men. You are gifted. I will look forward to seeing the first man choke when he sees you wearing this.”

She almost expected it to be every man who saw them.

The leather ensemble was much more conservative than her own. It had full sleeves while hers did not. And while she had tried to instruct the dressmaker on how large Sansa’s breasts were, she had apparently underestimated their size. They were nearly spilling over their confines, and even though she knew the top would hold them, the poor thing was going to give quite the eyeful to the guards and serving men. Even the slightness of her waist and wideness of her hips were quite visible in the outfit, and her legs were so long that it was fascinating to watch her walk.

Sansa’s shoulders stooped more and more as they walked outside the castle. Jon said he would be waiting for them after Sansa changed into something that wouldn’t burn off easily, just in case. But the length of the walk subjected Sansa to wide-eyed stares and even a stumble from a particularly distracted guard.

Dany would have loved the attention herself, but she knew Sansa’s confidence as it was would not tolerate such ogling.

She would have laughed at Jon’s own reaction if she wanted to be obvious about it. But she was sure Sansa hadn’t noticed, and for that she was thankful.

Jon’s face was full of excitement when he saw them, and he turned away for a brief moment before he jerked his head back in their direction, his eyes huge. She saw the flush upon his cheeks before he looked away again, and her lips fought the urge to pull upwards.

Jon talked to Sansa about what was going to happen. Sansa’s tightly braided hair still blew through the wind, and Dany frowned. She had tried to stuff Sansa’s glorious hair beneath a cap, but it was just too long and thick. She assured Sansa that Drogon was incredibly well-behaved, and she wouldn’t have anything to fear, such as losing her hair. They’d had an interesting discussion on how she and Jon had lost theirs, and she was sure that her descriptions had been a bit naughtier than they should have been, as she gushed to Sansa how they had ravished each other in dragonfire.

“All you’ll need to do is hold on, Sansa. I will be controlling Drogon. You can ride behind me or in front of me, whatever is more comfortable for you.”

Sansa was gazing horrified in the direction of Drogon. The dragon was settled atop the Windwyrm tower, occasionally beating her wings and screeching to her brothers, who flew nearby. She dwarfed the tower, and Dany could see the fear coalescing within Sansa’s body.

“I can’t...” she said, her face pale. “Jon, please. Don’t make me do this.”

Jon took hold of Sansa’s hands. Both of them wore gloves and she could hear the leather creak as their fingers squeezed together.

“You can. Listen to me, Sansa. It’s just like I said. Everything we do from here on out is going to make you stronger.”

Sansa’s bright blue eyes were dilated in terror. “Please, no. I can’t. You don’t understand...”

Jon looked over at her, clearly helpless. She watched him turn back to Sansa and pull her against him in a hug. Sansa’s hands fisted against Jon’s back and her face buried against his neck. Part of her wanted to join them, but she wanted Sansa to overcome this without her involvement. She wouldn’t be there for the girl in the Vale or the North. Jon would be. And even he would be gone eventually.

They murmured several things to each other. She couldn’t hear it above the wind, but when Jon pulled away, only holding onto Sansa’s hands, she could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

“I’m afraid of heights. I... I wasn’t always. But he...” Sansa’s swallow was clearly visible. She let go of Jon to wring her hands. “He once punished me for exposing secrets. I had accidentally revealed a plan of his to someone that was his enemy. He had Ser Lyn Corbray dangle me by my throat above the gatehouse at the Gates of the Moon.” Her tears blew away in the wind. She looked at Dany then. “I could feel the man’s arm struggle to hold me up. I felt like I would fall. That I was going to die. He brought me back just before he lost his grip. I’m sorry. Drogon is scary... but I am far more afraid of falling than anything.”

Dany felt her chest constrict. She shot a sharp look to Jon, and she knew he could see the fury in her eyes.

_Corbray will die for this._

“Aunt Lysa also tried to shove me through the Moon Door. I hate the Vale. I hate it.”

Sansa sounded like a little girl. Not petulant, but so afraid that she seemed much younger than she was.

“Sansa... you have nothing to fear. Drogon will be perfectly well behaved. I have never had a single problem with her,” Jon said. Dany knew that to be a lie. “We will fly low. We will be over the ocean for most of the flight. If in the off chance you fall, you won’t fall far and the water will cushion you.”

Dany heard Drogon shriek and lift off from the tower. The power of her wings washed over them in a hot wind, and she watched Sansa take several steps back to steady herself. Jon followed her. Dany appreciated how he was trying to protect her, and felt only grudgingly envious. Drogon landed on the paved outcropping. It was one of the few flat zones on the rocky island, and even with Drogon’s size, her wingspan dominated the area. Dany could almost picture Balerion the Black Dread doing much of the same, many years before.

Sansa was still. But Dany could see her chest heaving with desperate breaths as Jon drew her closer to the dragon. They were near Drogon’s head when Jon stopped pulling her and placed his hands on both of her shoulders. Dany stepped closer to hear what was being said, and to be near just in case Drogon didn’t accept Sansa.

“Sansa. You have nothing to fear. Drogon is like... a big direwolf.”

“A big direwolf,” Sansa repeated, her voice hollow.

“Yes. Big and powerful, but she won’t hurt you. Just like Ghost.”

Sansa nodded as if in a daze. Jon guided her to the front of the dragon, and Dany prayed to all the gods she knew that the beast would behave.

 

* * *

 

 

The Lost Queen

 

The moment she touched Drogon, her heart thudded sharply. Her mind whirled as she stared into the dragon’s eye, and then she saw herself, standing there.

_What?_

She gasped and stumbled backwards. Jon caught her, his hands tight around her arms.

“Sansa? What happened?”

She looked back at Drogon, and saw her huge molten eye watching her. She shook off Jon’s hold with haste, and placed her hands upon the creature once more. She needed to know.

Heat radiated off the dragon’s scales.

She could feel it through her gloves. She no longer felt displaced, and instead felt steady. It was like in an instant, the fear was gone. The connection she felt to the dragon with just a mere touch had solidified it.

_Lady. Ghost. Drogon. They all feel the same to me. How?_

“I’m ready,” she said, turning to Jon. His face, often so expressionless, brightened.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. With something akin to fascination, she watched as Jon pulled himself nimbly up the dragon’s vast side by varying ridges and spines. The way he moved didn’t even seem natural. So fast and sure, as if he had done it thousands of times.

He held out his hand to her, but she was much too far below to reach it. She would have to climb, just like he had.

Dull childhood memories rushed through her mind. Of running, playing, hiding. With her brothers and sister. With Jon and other castle children. She remembered the distinct feeling of her dresses catching at her legs, hampering her, and feeling mildly jealous of the boys in their breeches, running so much faster than she and the other girls.

Until mother told her she could no longer play with the boys, for she was a lady.

Her gloved fingers touched her thighs, and the leather garments rubbed together. For the first time in her life, she was wearing the clothing of a man. It felt unfamiliar.

She turned to Dany behind her, and saw Ser Barristan and several other guards behind the queen. Dany’s hands were on her hips, her legs spread shoulder width apart, her chin held high, and a smirk rested upon her lips.

She wore the same thing Dany did. A queen, wearing a man’s clothes.

She was free. Just like Arya had been.

She placed her hand upon Drogon’s side and looked up. Jon was so high above her. It felt daunting, but she knew she had to prove herself. To him. To the others.

To herself.

Thoughts of Bran hit her then, and she had to hold back the fear. He was the best climber she had ever seen, and even he had fallen. Aunt Lysa had tried to throw her through the Moon Door. She had nearly fallen when Petyr’s henchman had threatened to drop her.

She drew in a deep breath, grabbed a ridge of the dragon’s flesh, and pulled. She grabbed another and pulled again.

She didn’t stop. She reached again and again, her hands and feet finding placement much easier than she would have thought. Her arms burned, but it felt good. The supple brown leather of her breeches stretched with her movements, and she didn’t even realize she had reached Jon until his hand wrapped around her wrist.

She felt how wide her eyes were as she stared up at him. Fine hair that had escaped her braids whipped in her face, but she didn’t even feel annoyed by it in the wake of his smile.

“I told you. I knew you could do it, Sansa.”

_I did. I did it._

She settled behind him on the large saddle. Her legs parted on either side of his, and she wrapped her arms around his middle. Then she looked down.

She was much higher than she had thought. She couldn’t believe she had climbed so far. Her arms ached, but it felt wonderful.

_It feels good. I feel good._

Her blood thrummed. Her heart beat steadily in her chest. Her lips parted around her hard breaths, and she squeezed Jon tightly.

“I can’t believe I just did that.”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could hear and feel his laugh.

She watched over his shoulder as he wrapped the long reins around his arms several times, taking up the slack. She could feel the muscles in his legs, hips, and back move against her, as he began directing Drogon.

She gasped as she felt the powerful beast move beneath her. Clinging to Jon, she didn’t expect the air to nearly be knocked from her as he yelled, _“Sōvēs!”_

Her cry was drowned out in the fierce wind. It tugged at her like it wanted to rip off her clothing, like it wanted to free her hair from its braids.

Jon shouted calls to Drogon, in what she knew was High Valyrian. She had never heard the language before, and hearing the throaty tones emerge from Jon stunned her. She had never heard such a beautiful thing. The Westerosi and Dothraki tongues paled in comparison.

The winds eventually calmed. They were still strong, but she was able to peer over Jon’s shoulder to see where they were, and her jaw dropped.

The sun was starting to set. The orange and crimson sky melted into the water of the ocean at the horizon so that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, and all around her everything glowed.

Drogon flew swiftly over the water, much lower than she thought Jon would take her. She could feel the spray upon her face, and she laughed.

_This is incredible._

She couldn’t remember ever feeling such an emotion before. Happy. Free. Everything.

_I’m flying. I’m flying!_

She released her death grip on Jon. Without thought, her thighs gripped his legs tightly, much like a horse, and her arms flung out to the sides. She threw her head back, and let the salty air and water flow over her.

_Mother. Father. Can you see me? Can you see me fly?_

Laughter bubbled out of her, until she felt tears fall from her eyes. But they weren’t sad tears. They were tears of joy. Tears of freedom.

_If I can do this, I can do anything._

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

He had been so afraid that Sansa would hate riding on Drogon. He had flown low and unhurried, and had tried to block as much wind from her as possible.

Sansa’s exultation was something he hadn’t expected. And it was contagious.

Her lack of fear of the dragon and her fearsome abilities was something he couldn’t fully explain. He could only assume that her past with the direwolves, being exposed to extremely deadly creatures, allowed her to cope with dragon riding so well.

Or perhaps it was because she had already been through the worst she possibly imagine—she had already lost everything and had nothing—the only thing left to lose was her life. How could a dragon scare her?

If he hadn’t seen how happy she was for himself, he would have been afraid that she was being reckless or suicidal. She begged him to go faster, to show her what Drogon could do... and he did.

She held onto him tightly through most of it, and he could feel the strength in her arms waning as the sun sank lower and lower. But she still laughed and cried out as Drogon swooped through the air, showing her new rider what she could do.

The sun was almost completely gone by the time they returned to the island. Sansa was shivering, but it wasn’t from the cold. She practically leapt from the dragon in her haste to get to Dany, and the excited chattering she shared with his bride made him grin.

Drogon flew off with a nod from him. The shriek the dragon let out had Sansa whirling around, her eyes filled with wonder. Then she bounced towards him, spinning midway as if she was dancing, before she latched onto him.

“Jon, that was the most fun I’ve ever had. Thank you so much.”

Her sapphire eyes, always so vivid, sparkled in the mixture of twilight and torchlight. Half of her hair had escaped its braid and was wild about her head, her cheeks were wind burnt, and her lips were bright red and chapping, but she looked lovelier than ever. He squeezed her back, and then they all laughed when Dany came over and enveloped them both.

“I am so glad that you enjoyed yourself, Sansa. You seem to have a knack for understanding deadly animals,” Dany said, laughing. “You will be leaving before sunrise. You will be in the Vale before nightfall as long as there are no delays.”

Sansa nodded, her lips parted and her face still filled with wonder. “I would leave now if you let me! I had no idea...”

Dany took Sansa from him, slipping her arm through Sansa’s as they walked back towards the castle. Their laughter was so enchanting, he couldn’t help but smile the whole way back to their rooms.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

He was awake hours before dawn. He stood at the dock, watching as crates were loaded onto a large galley, which would make its way to White Harbor.

Sansa’s belongings would meet her there. The dozens of dresses and various articles of clothing Dany had made for her during his absence would be ready for her when she made her return to the North.

While the dressmakers on Dragonstone weren’t as highly touted as the ones in King's Landing, Dany had made sure that the future lady of Winterfell had dresses appropriate to the culture and lands they would be in. He had seen Dany and Sansa pack a crate themselves, filling it with various furs and thick fabrics. The designs were simple, the cuts elegant but not as revealing as the southron dresses that she’d had made while in King's Landing.

It had cost quite a bit gold and to import fabrics and furs from Duskendale, White Harbor, and the Free Cities, but Sansa now a wardrobe that would bring her back to the North in a way that no one could question whether she belonged.

Sansa had shown him some of the dresses nervously, wanting his approval. She had not been in the North since the age of eleven, and he had left only a short time ago.

Any shade would look wonderful on her, he knew. He had said as much. There were many dresses of white and grey, but also present were dark greens, vibrant blues, and even a dress of pure crimson.

He told her that she would look perfect. Dany had nestled a white cloak about her, and the grey fur of the collar had brushed against her flushed cheeks.

“Winterfell is yours,” Dany had said, drawing the three of them together, looking at both her and Jon. “I look forward to bringing the North back to its former glory, Sansa. Together with Jon, you will see it set to rights. I know you will. The North will be greater than it ever has been under your leadership.”

He drew in a deep breath as he watched the last crate on-loaded. Sailors called to each other over the screams of the sea birds. Lines were removed from the bollards at the pier, and he watched the men prepare the rigging. Sails unfurled, and the anchor was weighed.

Soon the ship was lost to the darkness of the sky and ocean.

His own belongings were loaded onto the ship as well. Dany had also made sure he had his own wardrobe prepared in his absence. He appreciated her thoughtfulness. He would never have once thought to worry over it.

“The North needs to see a king. Not a boy. Not a Lord Commander. A king. I hope you like what I had made for you.”

Dany’s personal tastes in dresses were elegant. She did not dress extravagantly, and wore few adornments, but she always looked like a queen. She had also learned enough of the North to know they dressed even more simply, and warmly. He had gone through the cloaks, tunics, doublets, and various other articles, and had been pleased enough with what he had seen.

The circlet he had found hidden amongst the clothes had made him frown. It was the same one he had worn at Sansa’s reintroduction celebration, a simple gold band studded with large rubies.

“Surely I have something less... overbearing? Robb’s crown was made of bronze. It was said to be a replica of the Crown of Winter.”

Dany had been wroth. “You are _not_ the King of Winter, Jon. You are the King of Westeros. Remember that.”

_Tell that to the North._

He’d packed away the crown, a copy of Aegon the Conqueror’s, nonetheless. But he resolved not to wear it.

“You look lonely.”

He turned to see his bride standing nearby. The air was chilled, and he watched her cloak whip around her in the sea breeze.

She came to his side and embraced him. He held her tightly, for he knew this was the last chance he would get to hold her for a long time.

“I wish I was going with you,” she said, laying her head upon his chest.

“I wish you were as well,” he murmured, bending down to press his lips against hers. They were warm and pliant, and he didn’t want to leave them.

Their last night together had been filled with gentle caresses and long, sweet kisses, rather than the typical fast and hard fucking that they both seemed to prefer. He had taken pains to worship every place on her lithe body, letting her know how much he would miss her. To tell her there would be no visits from him this time, and that he would truly be gone for a long while.

It had been hard to tear himself away from her. He had slept poorly, knowing that it would be some time before he could lie in her arms again. It worried him to know that he would not have her comfort for so long. Every one of her limbs had been wrapped around him, and he had lain awake, listening to her soft breathing. He tried to remember her feel, her sounds, her smell, so he could think of them in the darkness of night, when she wouldn’t be there.

When he couldn’t sleep. When the nightmares would return.

“Sansa just finished breaking her fast. She will be here any moment.”

He nodded, smiling deviously as he squeezed her until she squeaked. “You should be eating as well, _aqqisat oakah anni.”_

Her eyes flew to his. He could swear they were watering, but it was hard to tell in the dark.

“You have not called me that since we left King's Landing, _vorsa atthirari anni.”_

He stroked his fingers through the fine hairs on her head. “I find it hard to stay mad at you, _Khaleesi.”_

Her lips quirked upwards, and she grabbed his gloved hand to rest it upon her cheek. She placed a kiss upon his palm before she spoke. “I do not wish us to fight, Jon. Not now. Not ever. You mean... too much to me.”

He felt a thickness gather in his throat. He found it hard to think, let alone speak. Instead, he kissed her again. Her lips parted and her tongue curled around his. They stood there kissing, their arms wrapped around each other, until they were breathless.

He pressed his forehead against hers. “I am yours.”

He saw her tears slip down her cheeks. “And you are mine.”

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : As someone who was in the military I can sympathize with Jon and Dany and the time they will be spending apart. It brings back sad memories of the years my husband and I missed together.

So what do you predict will happen in the Vale? I love to hear from you guys!

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Author’s Note** : AHHHHH!!! Sorry for taking SO LONG to post! But I’m sure everyone can guess why!

 

I had my baby! He was born 8/8/16 after 5.5 hours of labor, naturally! A natural birth was my goal and I totally did it :D He is perfect and healthy and beautiful. My husband was by my side the entire time and it was amazing.

 

A quick update on my marital unit: He will be getting a scan in two weeks to see if the cancer has spread/shrank/died completely. Either way he will be starting radiation along with his chemotherapy. He is a trooper and is handling everything way better than his doctors can believe.

 

So yet again, I apologize! I’d like to say I hope to be posting a bit quicker, but I can’t promise anything now that I have a baby lol. But I do promise not to give up on this story! Please enjoy.

 

Thank you to Aiur <3

 

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty Two

 

The Lost Queen

 

Jon was quiet for most of the flight to the Vale. What words he did say were clipped. At first she had thought him tired or upset with her, but then she remembered the heartfelt parting she had watched between he and Dany, and she wondered if he were merely sad.

Although the pair had only spent a day and two nights together, she had once again seen the warmth between them that she had witnessed in King's Landing before they had departed. Before Daenerys had decreed he wed another.

As far as she knew, it had not been brought up during his short visit. She had tagged along with them almost the entire time he had been there, and had even spent time alone with them in their chambers before they had gone to bed, and it had never been mentioned.

The couple’s personal time together had kept her awake most of the night. She had heard the soft moans and muted cries, and had lain awake, wondering of what it could be like to be in the arms of a man like Jon. A man who cared for you and the enjoyment you received while coupling.

She had finally fallen asleep sometime after the moon was high in the sky, long after the sounds had ceased. What few hours she had rested were interrupted with dreams of being in the arms of a man whose face she could not see.

_I will need to marry when I return to the North. A northern lord, great and true, a man who did not let down Jon when he needed help at the Wall. A man who does not belong to Ramsay Bolton._

_I will get to choose whom I wed. For the first time in my life, my husband will be a man of my choosing. A lord, a man that I would have met when I was younger, more like than not._

Several names came to mind, but she had no idea if they still lived. If they had wed others in her absence. She wanted to ask Jon, but his cold demeanor kept her lips closed.

He finally began speaking to her as snow-capped mountains began appearing on the horizon. She sighed with relief as he said they would take a break, for she had been holding her water for hours, and had not wanted to bother him.

She could hear his muted laugh behind her as she promptly dropped her leather bag of personal items and ran full-tilt to some stunted bushes. When she returned, she stuck her tongue out at him, which only made him try to grab it.

It resulted in a chase that had her screeching with laughter. Drogon snorted, hopefully in amusement, as they dashed after each other around her large form.

Jon finally snatched her, picked her up, and tossed her clear into the air. She shrieked as she fell back down into his arms, her eyes wide as he then spun her around. It took her pummeling him with her fists to get him to let her go, and the way he threw back his head and laughed made her feel warm to her core.

“The lady of Winterfell has defeated the king of Westeros! What shall be said of him?”

“It shall be said that he fought valiantly, but could not stand against Sansa Stark! Her might was too great!”

They were still laughing as they mounted Drogon and began flying again. The cold wind did not touch her as they chatted of everything and nothing, and she felt relieved that Jon was over whatever had been keeping him quiet.

A small army camped before the Gates of the Moon, where she had spent so long hidden away and living as Petyr’s mistress. She felt shame burn her cheeks as Jon expertly maneuvered Drogon into a smooth landing within the tumult of men-at-arms. All around them surrounded armored men, in dozens of different colors. They were a mixture of men from the Crownlands, the lands surrounding the Trident, and possibly even from the lands of House Manderly if the merman banners could be trusted. Her heart swelled at the sight, and her shame was forgotten.

“Sansa!”

Her eyes flitted over the men, and she heard her name called again, distantly. Soldiers began separating, and a part formed to expose a man in armor, with auburn hair.

Her eyes welled. She just knew, in her heart, who it was.

_Uncle Edmure. I haven't seen him since I was a tiny girl._

She slid down Drogon’s sloped side without thought and ran to her uncle. She had no skirts to catch on her legs, and so she found herself sprinting to get to him. She made contact with his armor, felt the pinch of the steel through the soft leather of her riding clothes as his arms came around her, and she let the tears fall.

_Oh gods... he smells almost like mother._

She felt him clutch her tightly. She hugged him as hard as she could, drawing in deep breaths of his scent, and heard her observation slip out of her mouth before she had time to process how embarrassing it would sound.

 “And you smell just like Cat.”

They laughed together. She could see tears in his blue Tully eyes, so much like her own. Like her mother’s, like Robbs, Bran’s, and Rickon’s. His hand went to her face, but before he touched her, he quickly removed his gauntlets and gloves, tossing them to the muddy ground.

He cupped her face, and she covered his hands with her own.

“I thought for years that you were dead. Gone, like the rest of her children. I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would have one of my nieces brought back to me. To our family.”

A tear fell from his eye, but she didn’t fault him for crying. She was struggling even to keep herself together at his words. This man, who she had only ever met once in her childhood, and who she could barely remember, made her feel as if her mother was right there with them.

“Uncle Edmure...” She didn’t really know what to say. His smile was slightly lopsided, and she knew she was only moments from falling apart. His smile... it was exactly like Robb’s.

She felt a hand settle upon her shoulder. She knew it was Jon, and she turned to look at him. Her uncle released her, and she was immediately in Jon’s arms. She allowed herself only a few moments to gather her composure, and she bit her lip painfully to keep herself from thinking of her deceased family members.

She released him almost as quickly as she went to him. Drawing in a deep breath, she clasped her hands together.

_A lady does not make a spectacle of herself. Especially the Lady of Winterfell. Keep it together, Sansa._

Uncle Edmure chuckled as he offered an arm to her, and she smiled at him gratefully. Then her uncle turned to Jon, waving him forward.

_He respects and honors Jon. I am glad._

Men in the armor of the Unsullied immediately filtered in to come near Jon. The softer, much more caring personality Jon presented when alone with her faded almost instantly.

In its place, was the face of a king.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon

 

 

The army had been prepared, just as he had asked of Edmure. They would be ready to march at first notice.

He preferred to leave them behind if at all possible, but his hopes for this were not high. The former Lords Declarant had met with him upon his return for a council meeting, informing him that no word had arrived of any of the possible suspects.

The former Lords Declarant had also brought gifts for Sansa.

The tearful reunion with Mya Stone and Myranda Royce had been difficult. Sansa’s forced façade had crumbled when she saw the two women, and Jon had watched as the three embraced and cried.

He was glad it was done in private. Lady Anya and Lord Yohn Royce brought the two women forward in a small side chamber, with just Jon and Sansa. Sansa’s face had been stern and serious just moments before, for the council had been speaking of a possible trial being conducted to discern exactly what had happened to Sansa, along with crimes done to the Vale and the Seven Kingdoms during the reign of Petyr Baelish. He had been impressed with the firmness of her resolve, but privately he feared it was false.

The other lords and ladies had been excused at the conclusion of the meeting, leaving just Jon and Sansa. He’d had an idea of what was happening when Lady Anya had given him a pointed look, and had told Sansa to wait.

Sansa had stared at the two women in disbelief for the longest time. Her face had been white as a sheet, her eyes wide with shock. Then she had turned to Jon.

“Did you... is this... oh gods, is this real?”

He had nodded. “It’s real, Sansa. They are really here.”

Mya Stone and Myranda Royce had been standing close, almost nervously, as they gazed in Sansa’s direction.

Then Sansa had run to them. He had smiled at the sight of her long legs flinging her across the room in the leather breeches she had worn during her flight to the Vale, and he even had a moment of appreciation for the speed and force with which she had done so. It made him want to see her wear clothing like that more often, to show her how much more capable she could be in something other than a dress that hampered her movements.

The women spent quite some time in that chamber, talking in hushed tones and just touching each other. Randa and Mya had stroked Sansa’s windblown hair, patted her arms and shoulders, and even caressed her face, as if they couldn’t believe it was her. Sansa had practically basked under their attention, and had hugged both of the women several times before they finally parted, with promises to see each other soon.

The few hours they had of sunlight was filled with reunions and meetings. Sansa was so busy talking with lords and ladies of the Vale and Riverlands, it wasn’t until it was time to retire that he realized how hard she had been trying to stay strong.

The combination of Edmure, Mya, Randa, and the memories of the castle were apparent on her face as he escorted her to her chambers. He wouldn’t have noticed if the smallest sound hadn’t escaped her, and he caught the tears lingering in her eyes as they walked deeper into the castle.

She stopped outside the room that had been hers. She kept her gaze down as she reached for the iron handle with a shaking hand, and without thought, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

Her head jerked upwards, and his eyes collided with a stormy azure.

“Sansa,” he said softly. Her lower lip quivered, and it took everything in him not to gather her against him. With her face like that, it made him want to take her away from all of this forever. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were huge as she looked up at him. She wasn’t blinking, and the tears were still there, wanting to fall. She was silent, and he wondered if she was afraid to speak... that she would just break down if she opened her mouth.

He looked up and down the hall, and only saw Unsullied stationed at either end.

He tugged her arm, dragging her in the opposite direction. She gasped, but did not fight his hold. Within moments, he was opening the door to the chambers he had stayed in since his arrival, and brought her inside.

A fire burned heartily within. The room was cozy, draped in copious amounts of white, sky blue, and even some small hints of red. There were thick carpets upon the stone floor, offering more color. The windows were covered in thick blue velvet, which helped ward off the cold trying to penetrate the leaded glass. It had once been her aunt Lysa’s room.

He closed the door behind his cousin. When he turned back around, she was facing away from him, her arms drawn into herself, her head down. She had long since changed into a dress that he now remembered Randa offering to go retrieve from Sansa’s room. It was several inches too short, and too tight across her shoulders, chest, and hips. It was clearly from when she had been younger.

When he touched her arm, she drew up her shoulders as if flinching, but then she turned around.

Her face was wet with fresh tears, but she was no longer crying. Her lips, red from being chewed, parted as she whispered “I’m sorry.”  Her hands ran up and down her arms as if she were cold. She leaned forward and let herself fall against him.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. She sobbed against him for a few moments before pulling away.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sighing. “I think I just needed a moment.” She lifted her chin and stared at him. “Walking to my room... I knew what was in there. What had happened in there. I kept picturing it.”

Her nose was red and she was sniffling. Her hair was in a sloppy braid that Randa had fashioned. Her dress was frayed and too tight. He wanted to hold her and never let her go.

But he knew she wanted distance. She needed him for those short moments—to just let herself lean against him and gather her bearings. He knew that she was trying hard to stay strong, because it was necessary. As the soon to be Lady of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, the largest, most damaged region in Westeros, she needed to be strong for everyone, including herself. He had told her that everything she was going to go through from the time she left Dragonstone until she made it to the North was meant to make her strong.

And that included residing in the castle where she had been raped and held captive for years. Manipulated and tortured in the very room he brought her to…

He suddenly regretted everything he had told her about being strong. He didn’t know how he could expect her to be strong in a situation like this. Had he honestly thought she would be _fine_ sleeping in the bed where Petyr had forced her, again and again? To sleep in the room where she had sat, waiting, fearing, for that man to enter and violate her once more?

He watched her standing there, wringing her hands together in anxiety. Despite his good intentions, he was the one putting her through such anguish right now.

What made him want to protect her so? What made her so different from every other woman or girl he had ever met? He didn’t even feel this protective towards Daenerys. Perhaps it was because Dany was so strong and fierce; he had never had the need to keep her safe, or to even coddle her. It was often the other way around—she protected and coddled him.

But with Sansa, he saw something that was broken and wanting to be fixed. Just like him.

How would he feel if he had his entire past dredged up in front of dozens of people? Shown his deepest, darkest secrets? Forced to expose the worst parts of himself?

And he was going to force Sansa to do just that, under the pretense of making her stronger.

“This is my fault,” he said, standing there awkwardly as she looked at him. Her eyes were like a window to the past, and he felt a knot grow painfully in his throat. He wasn’t good with words, but there was something about her, and about Dany and Val before her, that made it easier to open up and talk to them. He’d given his soul to Dany, had revealed every part of himself to her, every dirty little secret he’d ever kept. Sansa didn’t have someone to do that with. While she had told him many aspects of what had happened to her here, he still didn’t truly know how bad it had been. There was no way for him to truly know how horrible it was, but his gut told him that it was worse than he could imagine.

“I shouldn’t have ever brought you here. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry, Sansa.”

Her perfect eyebrows puckered with confusion. “What are you saying, Jon? You know that this needed done. You told me yourself that I—”

“Needed to be strong, yes, I know. But looking at you, it makes me feel like I was wrong. Gods, Sansa, if you could see your face...”

She sucked in her breath. “Jon... I...”

He felt sick with himself. He kept picturing her laying wide-awake in her room, frightened of every shadow. Staring at the door, as if waiting to wake up from a dream, or anticipating the man that haunted her every unguarded moment stepping through the door at any moment.

He closed and fisted his hands at his sides. The leather of his gloves creaked with the pressure.

When he felt the touch of her hand on his arm, he opened his eyes, startled. She was so close it made him nervous. Her other hand lifted to his face, and he felt her fingertips touch his brow, then move to his cheek so lightly he could barely feel it. They stopped just by the corner of his mouth, and then she lowered her fingers from his face to rest on his other arm.

“I won’t lie, Jon. I am scared. I am terrified. But... I need to do this. For myself, and for the Vale. For justice.” She was staring at him so intently. He felt as if she could see straight into his mind.

“I will do what needs done. Anything. Anything but staying in that room.”

He nearly laughed. He wasn’t sure if it was from relief or the levity in her words, but her statement made his worries melt away. Out of everything she needed to do, he felt like this was the hardest step of the journey. When they went North, it would be nothing like this. She would have her first taste of being a leader, of being a lady that would be bringing her people back together. It was what she had been born for, whether she knew it or not.

“You can have this room,” he said, feeling her fingers move down his arm as she stepped away. He caught her hand at the last moment, holding her there. She stared at their joined hands for a second before she flicked her gaze up to his. “I can also have the Unsullied guard your door. I will have maids assigned to you tomorrow. You can even have a bedmate if you wish. Anything, Sansa. Say the word, and it is yours.”

Her lips parted, as if she was going to speak. But then she bit her lip and looked away. She tugged her hand from his, and then folded her fingers together primly.

“I... I will think on what you have said. But yes, the guards sound lovely. I will rest easier knowing that they are there.”

He stood straighter. He felt like she was hiding something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Do you need anything from your rooms?”

“No!” She blinked rapidly, as if shocked from her response. She smoothed her skirts apprehensively. “I mean, no. Thank you. I... I will be fine. I just want to rest now, Jon. It has been an incredibly long day.”

He nodded, stepping toward to the door. “I will be staying in the room next door. I believe it was once Lord Robert’s chambers. If you need anything, even if it’s in the middle of the night, do not hesitate to come to me.”

Her nod was slight. He could tell she was tired. Her responses during the meetings had become quieter and more clipped as time had worn on, and the emotional impact of the day was surely catching up to her.

He forced a smile, but she was looking at the ground. His lips thinned, and he drew in a deep breath.

_I hope I am doing the right thing for her._

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys

 

It had only been a few days since Jon and Sansa had left, and she already felt lonely.

Missandei tried her best, but Lady Sansa’s presence was sorely missed. She was different from most ladies at court, someone Dany didn’t feel like she needed to be guarded around. She felt like Sansa told her the truth and gave her what she needed to hear, much like Tyrion.

She tossed aside a scroll that had just been delivered by Ser Barristan and rubbed her temples. Her time at Dragonstone was coming to an end, she knew. Tyrion reported daily that women were pouring into King's Landing, just waiting for Jon to return.

_“The smell of human excrement increases by the day, Your Grace. I will take delight from the look upon your face at your return.”_

She personally feared some action from the High Sparrow over all the women in King's Landing, for the man seemed to think all women were whores, meant to corrupt all of the perfect men around him. She had been told he had not always been like that—in fact, he had been very pious and dedicated to the Faith of the Seven. He still was, but it seemed as if becoming the High Septon had exposed him to the notorious ways of court, and the sins created from it. He seemed much more hesitant to trust anyone, and was very suspicious. Several of the septons below him had spoken with her long ago about how the High Sparrow had started off as merely strict in the punishment of high born ladies for adultery and other scandalous acts, but that he had grown to dislike the fairer sex to such an extreme that he now suspected all women to be whores.

She didn’t know what could cause a religious man to change in such a way. She hated the man for his cruel words towards women. Initially, when she had first arrived in King's Landing and seized the throne, the city had been under his control. Queen Cersei had been killed in a mob moons before, and there was almost no one living in the Red Keep. The mobs had destroyed many of the rooms within the once great castle, but what had been left of the guards had managed to protect the royal wing and other important chambers. They had, however, conveniently allowed the mob to seize Queen Cersei and other important officials, and allowed them to be killed.

It took only cursory investigation to find that the guards had been in the High Sparrow’s pockets, and had betrayed their mad queen when a better deal arose.

The High Septon had wanted Jon to be king, despite his lack of faith in the Seven, simply for his gender. Daenerys had been shocked that he would even say such a thing, as Jon was clearly not interested and made a point to defer to Dany in all things. Her nephew had been forced to sign extreme amounts of documentation to make sure the throne had stayed in her hands, and only then, the High Sparrow had insisted that she wed almost immediately to more permanently secure everything.

It bothered her knowing that so many men of the world felt that women could not rule, but she often questioned herself on why it actually did. She knew she wasn’t perfect, but she knew that even here in Westeros, she had made immature decisions. Decisions that legitimately gave the High Sparrow a reason to think she should not rule. Sleeping with Trystane had been one of them. Allowing his threats to force her to give him her firstborn was another. But the people of Westeros and even her own forces had been so weakened by the recent wars that she knew she would not have been able to defeat a Dornish invasion in any meaningful way. And she especially did not want a war all over again.

She had made mistakes, but hopefully they were not too grave.

_Peace,_ _not war,_ she had told herself after she had left the Wall with Jon and had begun their campaigning for fealty. _I will take this throne with peace. I will care for the people with peace. This will not be Slaver’s Bay all over again._

She knew that the High Sparrow was a problem. He held too much power, if she was willing to admit it. He was subtle about it, but he controlled the smallfolk in a far more meaningful way than she could. He had to say but a word and they would riot.

He also had connections with powerful groups and people across the continent, while she was still learning the ways of Westeros and the nuances of her court. She had yet to learn the subtle distinctions of the nobility and their regions that would allow her to understand them and rule them effectively. There was so little that she knew, and she was forced to rely heavily upon others.

Tyrion was, by far, her most valued advisor. When he had managed to find her in Meereen, he had been a prisoner and had been fighting to get to her. She had just returned from her capture by the Dothraki after nearly forced to become part of the _Dosh Khaleen_. She had ordered him killed immediately upon learning whom he was, but his words had stopped her.

“I may not be much on the eyes, but in my head is the key to the Seven Kingdoms. Killing me will be the worst mistake you ever made.”

He had never steered her wrong. Even in the few times she had decided not to listen to him, adding to her mistakes, it had turned out he had been right. That even included Trystane.

His words in the scroll made her worry, however. She was questioning herself and him over his idea.

_Lady Margaery is going to White Harbor to meet King Jon. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if those two got to know each other well. She would make a perfect queen consort, Daenerys. Jon could be happy with her._

It was difficult thinking of Jon with another woman. She wondered frequently how the Targaryen queens of old handled sharing a husband. She knew that Aegon the Conqueror had his sisters as wives, and that one had been more favored than the other. Maegor the Cruel had had six wives before he died, obviously some more favored than others. Would Jon favor her or his other wife? Would he feel a bond with his new wife that he would never feel with her, because Dany could not bear him children?

Or would his new wife fear her? Would Jon’s new queen see Daenerys as a threat, and always hold herself away from them?

She stood and moved toward the window and the view of the sea. Jon’s honor was nearly sickening sometimes. She struggled to imagine him and Margaery together, because Jon was just so stiffly honorable. She had told him to do whatever it took to find a wife, but his response had been anger, of course. He felt like he was betraying her.

“I am giving you explicit permission to find a wife, Jon. I want you to be happy. And you aren’t going to learn if you are going to be happy with another woman without getting to know her. I want you to court her. Kiss her, fondle her, fuck her for all I care. I don’t want you to find it a chore to bed the mother of the future kings and queens of Westeros. I want you happy.”

His hold had been fierce. “But I am happy with you.”

_You always say things that make me waiver in my decisions. Is this yet another bad decision?_

She rubbed her belly and prayed. She hoped that he had left her with a babe in their two nights together. If it happened quickly enough, then she could call this whole thing off.

She turned to see Ser Barristan standing off in the corner of the room, silent as always, but ever watchful.

“Prepare to return to King's Landing, Ser. I want the court and all of these simpering women to be ready for whenever Jon returns. We will have plenty of time to help Tyrion pick the best ones for him.”

Ser Barristan’s face was grim, but he nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion

 

He made it a point to go to the Tower of the Hand. His work was never done, and it had only increased in the absence of the monarchs.

A certain presence was missed upon his entrance to his rooms. He sighed forlornly at the sight of the empty bed and the lack of feminine articles.

A page and squire attended him as he began sorting through correspondence. Most were ignored or set aside for later, but in the few hours he had been absent from his desk, he had managed to accumulate several items of interest.

_A summons from the High Sparrow. Wonderful._ He put that aside for later.

A letter had arrived from Winterfell. Apparently hand delivered by a Bolton man, according to his squire. Tyrion was informed that the man was awaiting a reply. He read it, but made it a point to make the messenger wait a while. A few days would suffice.

_Hmm... well it appears that Lord Ramsay is excited about meeting his future bride. Margaery and her grandmother left some time ago, and are undoubtedly making their way slowly through the Riverlands, making it a point to spread Northern cheer and hospitality. If her plans succeed, then the rest of the Kingdoms will be much more charitable towards the North once Sansa regains power, and hopefully will be willing to send some help their way._

Tyrion knew the whole thing was a risk. Ramsay Bolton was a devious, evil creature by all reports, and it was possible that this whole thing would blow up in their faces. He was putting Margaery and her entire entourage at risk. The only thing he could hope for was that White Harbor was keeping everything quiet, and so were Jon and Sansa.

House Manderly of White Harbor were always staunch Stark loyalists.  Tyrion didn’t know all of the details, but when White Harbor had been mentioned to Sansa in a brief, secret discussion, the smile on her face had been enough to solidify the notion. She clearly knew something he did not.

White Harbor had sent a small army of about one hundred men to the Vale to help Jon and also to bring Sansa North when the time came. Their entire campaign would begin in White Harbor, when open rebellion would begin.

They could only hope that Lord Ramsay wasn’t smart enough to know that he was being set up.

Tyrion sipped from his wine and rubbed his forehead. Sometimes he swore he was getting too old for the political maneuverings and deceit, but other times, he lived on it.

Especially with Alestra no longer staying with him.

He tossed aside the letter from Winterfell and began reading a small scroll from Dorne.

_Has the queen become with child yet?_

That was all it read. It sent a chill down his spine. His reply:

_No._

He hoped they forgot what they asked and wondered about the random “No” reply.

He sagged in his chair and eyed the growing number of letters in the pile to be read later. Only a short while ago he would have been willing to fly through his work to spend time with his _nearly_ wife, but now, he just eyed it with trepidation. He had very little energy or will to work, but he knew he must.

He took the first letter on the bottom and began reading.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note** : Please review!

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note** : Hello everyone! Thank you for coming back and reading! I have been diligently writing the last two weeks, so that's good news for you!

 

Please follow my Tumblr, gohansonna2! You'll get a bunch of goodies, including previews of chapters!

 

Thank you to my genius beta, Aiur!

* * *

 

 

Chapter Thirty Three

 

The Lost Queen

 

It felt different now.

The halls of the castle she had lived in for so long were no longer the same. They felt warmer, calmer, happier. Even the colors seemed more vibrant, beautiful. People laughed and went about the duties with smiling faces, rather than with sullen looks and fear. No one looked over their shoulder anymore, wondering who might overhear them talking.

She did notice, however, that people occasionally eyed her with pity. At first it was difficult to handle, but it was something that she knew would make her stronger. She knew that she would have to hear the gossip and rumors about herself, even if it was hurtful.

It had not taken long for word to spread about exactly how terribly she had been treated in private during Petyr’s reign. It was unknown who had leaked the information, but Jon became livid in one of the council meetings. He made it known that if another word of the proceedings were heard outside the chamber, he would have them all punished, and that Drogon would be involved. Not a peep had been heard since.

The days were long, but the nights were even longer. The meetings and discussions eventually became redundant to her and she would just stare off, barely paying attention. No information was being gathered, no one had found any of the men Sansa had accused of the vilest of Petyr’s crimes, and so nothing new was happening. It was just repeating the same information about her torture and rapes over and over again.

But the nights were different. However arduous the days were, she would find herself tossing and turning at night, staring at her door, just waiting to wake up from a dream. To realize that all this time, it had been nothing but a fantasy her mind had conjured.

And then, when she didn’t think she could feel any more miserable, the loud cries started. At first she had thought she was having a nightmare, but the hoarse scream she heard penetrated her sleep and she sat up, her blanket clutched in her hands as the sound reverberated through her apartments.

It didn’t take long for her to realize exactly what, and who, it was.

The nightmares Jon had spoken of so briefly became reality to her in an instant. She felt a familiar pain gather in her chest, one that she had gotten often with Petyr, when she felt helpless.

It grew worse as the nights wore on. Jon made a comment on the state of her eyes and how exhausted she looked one morn, and it took everything in her not to just collapse into his arms and tell him she was there for him if he needed her. But she was afraid he would be humiliated at his weakness, so she never said a word.

They had been at the Gates of the Moon for a sennight when the worst of his cries yet woke her in the hour of the wolf. She clutched her throat as the raw sound pierced her, and almost thought of getting up to wake him, but the sound stopped.

She was nearly asleep once more when the scream, much worse this time, came again. It sounded like he was being torn apart—like the worst of all his horrors was right in front of him, or he was witnessing the deaths of his family right before him. It was so horrifying that she flung herself out of her bed and flew straight to the massive oak armoire in the corner of the room.

Digging through Lysa’s old dresses and frilly things was a trial; her deceased aunt had been voluptuous in more than one area and the yards of fabric took some time to tunnel through. Finally they were shoved out of the way, revealing a small hidden door. She ripped it open and stumbled into the small male clothes in the adjoining armoire, where she immediately undid the latch and flung herself into the apartments that once belonged to Robert Arryn.

The rooms that had once been her sweet cousin’s, her false husband’s, were freezing. But that wasn’t what chilled her to the core.

Through the moonlight streaming through the windows she could see Jon, his chest bare, thrashing uncontrollably in the blankets and furs. His hands were fisting and unfisting in the fabric. He alternated between whimpers and cries, and she covered her mouth to keep herself from crying out when his back arched off the bed and he screamed himself raw.

She did not let his yell finish. It ended on a queer strangled noise when she dove upon the bed, her hands desperately reaching for him. He fought her, his fists flailing wildly against her. His naked flesh felt cold to the touch. It took all of her strength to keep him from striking her, and despite her calls to him to awaken, he would not.

“Val! No! NO!!!!”

His knuckles brushed her chin, and she gasped with pain, anger flooding her.

“Jon! Wake up! Right now!”

She did not know where it came from, but her hand flew out and connected with his face. He jolted upright so quickly she fell backwards.

Onto his sword.

She sucked in her breath with fear, prying it out from under her, thankful that his sword had been in its sheath. Jon immediately removed it from her hold to lay it on the other side of the bed, but his hands found her in the dimly lit room right after, moving over her arms, shoulders, and even her loose hair to make sure she was not hurt.

“Are you alright? What are you doing in here?”

His voice sounded gravelly, painful even, and through the shadows she could see the expression on his face fall when realization dawned on him. “You heard me, didn’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew. She nodded her head, her tousled auburn hair falling forward as she leaned towards him. She placed her hand on his bare shoulder. The muscles tensed so hard they felt like rock. “I heard everything. Every night, Jon. It’s why I haven’t been sleeping well. I...I didn’t want to upset you if I said anything.” She looked down at her lap, biting her lip, before she dared a glance back at him. “Who... who is Val?”

His cold hands abruptly left her arms, and she let him go as well. It was obvious he needed distance.

He pulled his knees up into his chest and let his disheveled head fall onto them. It reminded her so strongly of a scared child that her heart hurt for him. He was quiet for some time, so long that she was afraid he would not speak. She opened her mouth just when he finally spoke.

“I haven’t dreamed of her in a long time. Not since before I married Daenerys. I still think of her, of course. I could never forget her. Ygritte either.”

They were both names of women, Sansa knew that for certain. With the painful way in which Jon had called out this Val’s name, she knew that she must have meant something to Jon.

“Val... she was the first woman I truly loved. She came a short time after Ygritte, the first woman I ever... laid with. I loved her, but it wasn’t true, like with Val. Val, I felt her in my entire being.” He drew in a deep, ragged breath. “I killed her.”

She gasped. She would have said something, but it all came rushing out of him like a wave. She found out that he had killed Val out of necessity. She learned of how he had discovered he was a Targaryen, how he had walked into the pyre and magically not burned. It had something to do with how he had been reborn.

It was also how his sword had transformed.

She learned much about him in those early morning hours, and he her. They sat there and talked, mostly about their pasts, after they had been separated at Winterfell. She found things out about Jon that she had never known—how traumatizing things were for him towards the end of being part of the Night’s Watch, before he died. Being revived was a chilling story in and of itself. He listened intently to how she had lost Lady and how she had never felt the same since. How it felt like she was missing part of herself and how she wished Ghost was there, as he comforted her in a way she had not felt in a long time.

She spoke of her time in King's Landing, a part of her history he knew little about. He heard firsthand what type of atrocity Joffrey had been and all about Cersei. She told him what it was like to watch her father die, and she watched him struggle with emotion. It was one of the rare times she had ever witnessed him wanting to break down, but just like his typical self, he held it in. He was much better with anger than grief.

She attempted to make things a bit lighter by talking about her marriage to Tyrion. She made him laugh once or twice, but towards the end he apologized to her for not being there. She saw the anger in him then, when he fisted his hand and glared off into the nearly dead fire. The embrace she offered him was comforting for them both, she thought. It felt nice to hold him and know that they both needed it.

He was speaking quietly of a woman named Melisandre when she felt herself beginning to nod off, her eyes drifting closed as she leaned against the carved falcon that was the headboard of the bed. She heard him chuckle, and then her shoulder was nudged.

Her eyes flew open and then felt heavy once more, but she managed to keep them open. “Hmm?”

“How did you get in here?”

She pointed to the armoire, where the door was hanging open just the slightest bit. “Aunt Lysa had a very special attachment to her son, Robert. She had to be near him at all times. There finally came a time where he was too old to share her bed, so she had a secret door built between their rooms, if he ever needed her. Before we were wed,” she yawned widely but managed to cover her mouth, “he would slip into my bed all the time. Petyr had me moved nearby once he killed Aunt Lysa, and Robert took advantage of it. I came through there. It was probably also why I could hear you much more clearly.”

He was quiet. It was obvious to her how uncomfortable he was for her to know about his weakness. But inside of her, in her heart, she was glad that she knew and that he knew she did. She hoped that in the future he would be more open with her and understand that she was there for him.

He helped her off the bed and brought her back into her chamber. She saw subtle hints of sunlight on the horizon and knew that the castle would be waking soon, but she was exhausted. They both looked at each other with miserable smiles before they parted ways, both hoping to catch some sleep before the rest of the castle awakened.

 

Daenerys

 

It was a bit of a surprise when she was handed the thick, sealed note by a well-known Unsullied soldier. She had been alone for hours, lolling on the Iron Throne, debating quietly to herself over problems within the kingdom, but mostly thinking of Jon and Sansa and their troubles.

Apparently the gods pitied her and her loneliness enough to deliver news directly to her in the form of a lengthy letter from Jon.

She ordered her man to rest and dismissed him. As soon as he was gone, she ripped open the seal on the papers ravenously. She had not heard from her husband in over a fortnight and in the times where she did, the news was brief and significantly old. Sansa was more detailed in her letters, but also very guarded in her words.

This letter, however, was clearly protected and Jon had not withheld information judging by the thickness of it. It had been sealed with a wax Targaryen dragon and delivered by Rotted Tongue, an Unsullied trained to ride, and who had undoubtedly been with other soldiers for protection.

Several layers of secured paper were peeled away and she knew that it had not been tampered with. Her eyes devoured the words before her:

 

_Aqqisat oakah anni,_

Her heart fluttered at the words, as it always did.

 

_For the first time I am able to write you something substantial and with the assurance that no other eyes shall touch this but yours. For certainty, I am having this personally delivered by Rotted Tongue, and it is he who shall deliver this into your hands. If it was by any other’s hand, consider the information herein compromised._

She smiled and felt the young, passionate girl come out in her

 

_Firstly, I want to you to know that I am struggling to write this to you (you don’t want to know the amount of pages I have thrown away and edited). I have never written a letter to a lady, let alone my wife, in any manner other than to discuss plans or problems._

_I know, however, how nice it would be for you to read something other than arrangements I am making and the talks I have had with the Vale lords and ladies, so I will do my best for you, my queen._

She sighed and clutched the papers to her chest briefly before she continued reading.

 

_This is the longest we have been apart now. Every day I notice your absence. Sometimes I find myself turning to speak to you only to find you gone._ _I can feel the loneliness when I realize why you are not there, and how long you have been gone from my side._

_Does it feel wrong to you as well?_

The faint sting of tears touched her eyes. _Gods, yes. Yes, it feels wrong._

It gave her a few moments of delight, wondering if one day Jon would be able to articulate how he actually felt without feeling like a shy, unsure boy. That he would feel confident in his feelings towards her. She was already thinking in her head of her reply to him. She was sure he would be blushing by the end of it. She would make sure of it.

 

_However sad it may be that we are apart, I believe that when we are reunited, it will be special. I look forward to the moment when that happens._

She wished he would say more. She wondered if he pictured that moment when they both laid eyes on each other, and how she would see his dark features brighten, how they would run to each other and she would leap into his awaiting arms, and then they would just hold one another.

How many moons had it been now? Two? She felt herself sag in misery, knowing it would be many more moons until she saw him.

 

_By the time you receive this letter, Sansa and I will be at our intended destination. It might come as a shock to you, but you know that we have to keep our movements carefully guarded._

_I am sure you understand then, that everything has come to an end. It was anticlimactic, unfortunately. We were given a tip on the location of the brigands, and we took a small group to infiltrate a cave hidden in a mountain near the Bloody Gate. At first we were wary that we would be ambushed by the mountain clans, but instead we found our targets._

_They were filthy, hungry, and desperate. I would have perhaps felt pity for them if I had not seen Sansa’s face upon their capture. She had demanded to come with us, and perhaps because I want her to understand the dangers of being a ruler and lord (or lady in her case), it seemed like the right thing to do. She was safe at all times._

Dany drew in a deep breath, glad to know that it was over and that Sansa had been there for the entire thing. Jon’s intention to make Sansa stronger meant that she needed to see and do things like this, so she was happy to know that Jon was still working towards that goal.

 

_I gave Sansa the option of how she wanted to handle the entire situation. Trial, if she wanted one at all, beheading, or some other sentencing. I would have even let Drogon roast them all alive if that was what she requested._

_I wish you could have seen it. It was... magnificent. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was like watching a winter rose bloom, like seeing a bird be set free. I saw Sansa come into herself by sentencing the men that had aided Petyr Baelish and by deciding their fates herself._

_She decided on a trial. It was more a formality than anything. I think she wanted to make sure all of the ends were tied and there would be no questions. She lead it herself, presented evidence and paperwork. She gave testimony that damned them all. Even several other lords, ladies, and servants stepped forward with incriminating evidence, and it only took three long days for it all to be over._

_She did it just like her father. The man who taught me the meaning of honor, strength, commitment, and what it meant to lead and care for your people._

_“The one who passes the sentence shall swing the sword,” she told me afterward. I don’t think I have ever felt more proud of her as I did in that moment. You would have been as well._

_I made sure that she would be able to do it before we did it publically. I am not even sure if her hands had ever held a sword, but to give her Lightbringer and watch her hold it before her, watching her face and hair glow like fire, was a moment I will never forget._

_She practiced swinging it for a good few hours, until her arms were trembling. It brought a smile to my face. It reminded me so much of Arya. She wanted to make sure she did it right._

Jon never spoke of Arya. In the few times he ever had, Dany had immediately known how much the girl had meant to him. She wondered if it had been difficult for him to write of her.

 

_Sansa presented quite the sight that day. Red hair, red dress, flaming sword. I have to give it to the men, they all held firm. All but Lyn Corbray, who begged for his life in the end._

_Sansa left him for last, so he watched his comrades die one by one, as Sansa swung the sword. And she swung true, every time._

_I thought perhaps that she would be disturbed after taking so many lives, but it does not seem to be so. If anything, I believe our Sansa grew from the ordeal. She has found closure, and now she can start anew._

Dany felt a small smile touch her lips. She closed her eyes and pictured the sweet, beautiful girl that was Sansa, and hoped deep within her that it was so. That she could begin anew, like she herself had when she had come to Westeros. When she had left a majority of her life behind her in Essos.

 

_So now we are left with the decision of who to give lordship of the Vale to. I think that would be something for which a large council should convene. Since there are no known Arryn descendants, the ruling house of the Vale of Arryn will be changed for the first time in hundreds_ _of years._

_I will leave that decision up to my queen. Know that I do have a suggestion or two, if you need it._

_As I finish this letter, Sansa is beckoning me that it is time to leave. Drogon will take us to our destination, where it will all begin. I can see the trepidation in Sansa’s eyes, but I know that this will be the final part of our plan. Our Sansa will become the woman she is meant to be._

_Do not miss me too much, aqqisat oakah anni. Know that you are ever in my thoughts. I will be with you soon._

_Jon_

She held the sheets of parchment against her breast, crumpling them in the process. Her chest hurt in a way she could not explain. She felt several warm trails flow down her cheeks, and knew that she was crying as the tears dripped upon the pages.

She could not remember the last time she had cried, but it had been some time.

She gathered the papers together and stood from her throne. She was quickly joined by Ser Barristan and several other Queensguard, and she clasped her arm around her belly as she hurried to her room.

The Lost Queen

 

Jon often referred to this adventure as the beginning of her new life.

As she watched the gulls caw overhead, she had to agree.

A more wistful agreement than anything, however.

She drew in a deep breath of the sea air and longed instead to smell the snow and the trees. Of the life of the North and everything it meant to be a Northerner.

She had been trapped inside this oceanside castle for over a moon and she was miserable. She wanted to go outside and fall into the spring snows, she wanted to run through the drifts and jump into the freezing cold waters. She wanted to suck in lungfuls of the scent of pine and ice and moor and everything around her until she was dizzy.

Instead she got the stink of fish and salt.

Jon’s gloved hand reached out to cover hers. She hadn’t realized how hard she had been gripping the stone rampart, but apparently he had, observant man that he was. She gave him a half smile, but it immediately fell as soon as she reclaimed her hand to hide within her cloak.

She was mad at him, and he knew.

“I know you’re not happy, Sansa—”

“Then let me out! I feel like a... like a trapped wolf! Please, Jon, this is unnecessary! This is—”

“For your safety, Sansa. If the wrong person saw you...”

She growled at him and turned away, her fur trimmed cloak twirling around her as she walked briskly in the opposite direction. “Half the North knows I am here! What is the difference? I am their lady yet I am a prisoner! I demand that I be allowed—”

His hands on her shoulders stopped her frenzied departure. He turned her around and glared at her in such a way that it made her feel like a child. She was probably pouting like one too. But she knew this was wrong. All of it. This wasn’t how it had played out in her dreams and imaginings.

“Lady Stark, we are all aware of whom you are, and that is why this is happening. This is _my_ order. I am king—”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “In the North.”

His lips thinned at her words. His already pale face looked drained of all color. “I am _not_ the king in the North, Sansa. That is nonsense.”

She watched his face for any signs of a lie. She took in his long brown hair, so dark it was nearly black. His grey Stark eyes, with their flecks of obsidian and silver towards his pupils. His skin, so fair like her own. His cheeks were bright pink from the cold and wind. She could tell he had recently worrying his lips because they were red.

Was it possible for a man to be beautiful?

She almost smiled, because she had thought that many times of other men, men like Loras Tyrell. Jon was different, however. He was a unique kind of beautiful, in a way that shone not only on the outside, but on the inside.

She looked back into his eyes and just watched him. He did not flinch away from her stare like so many would. She wanted to find a lie in those orbs, but she just couldn’t. She knew he would never intentionally lie to her. Not now, not ever...not after everything they had gone through together.

Extreme frustration hit her, because part of her truly just wanted to lash out at something at this point, even if it was him.

She sagged against his hold and let herself be embraced by him, defeated.

It was so hard to be mad at someone who cared so genuinely for you.

Her dreams of coming home to the North had not been what she had expected. Perhaps she had been overly wishful and even girlish about it, imaging legends and stories of her arrival, as if she were an avenging lord or lady come to save their people.

What she had gotten had been the complete opposite.

_Jon’s_ return to the North was nothing less than warm and welcoming. The men had been ecstatic seeing him and treated him like a brother, but also like the long lost friend that they had not seen in a dozen years. Sansa had been forced to stand to the side as he had been carried off by men that had been awaiting _him_ for moons, hooting for ale and wine immediately.

The celebration had been extraordinary. She heard tales of Jon that she could not have previously imagined that night, and learned quickly why Jon was so beloved by the North.

_Lord Commander. Bringer of Justice. Protector of the North. Slayer of the Others. Killer of the Night King. Savior of all._

_King in the North!_

The cry had begun shortly after the festivities began, and it had been so loud that the rafters had shaken within the Great Hall. Jon’s attempt to silence the call was ignored, and as she had sat next to him and the sickly looking Lord , she had been in disbelief.

This was how the North saw the once pitied and despised Jon Snow?

“Jon Stark! Jon Stark! Jon Stark!” they had called. _Not_ Jon Targaryen.

A small malicious smile had formed on her lips at the thought of seeing Daenerys’s face at what she was witnessing. The queen would not be happy.

After the men and women had calmed down, Jon had stood and addressed them all. He thanked them for their love and devotion, especially to the Starks. She was glad that he had made it a point to include her in his speech, and that he had also spoken of not being the King in the North, but _the king of the Seven Kingdoms_. The grumbles and shouts back had been humorous, and even she had laughed, especially when someone told him to go bugger himself.

“I’d rather my wife in King’s Landing bugger me, if I had to choose!” he had yelled, and the laughter and ale had poured forth.

Jon was... different. Happy. Happy in a way that she had not seen him in a while. Being around old friends and just being _home_ seemed to have that effect on him.

Not so much on her.

Jon had her under lock and key. She was never without him or a guard. She slept with men outside her chambers and a serving girl beside her bed. She was always wearing a cloak to hide her face and hair. She was often not included in the multiple meetings that happened daily, planning what would happen for the future. There was always an excuse as to why she had not been summoned: they forgot, it was unimportant and they didn’t want to waste her time, it had been impromptu and quick. The reasons were endless.

Jon came home to be worshipped, while she was hidden in the background.

She felt like she was being controlled, like a pawn. It reminded her so fiercely of how she had been initially treated by Petyr that she stiffened in his arms. Jon had been holding her tenderly, stroking the back of her cloak as if it were her hair.

She shoved him away.

He looked at her with shock. She wanted to strike him.

“You are right. You are _not_ the King in the North. My brother was. I am his heir. I am Lady Stark. And I will not stand by and let you, or anyone else, control me.”

 “Sansa...”

“No! You told me that you wanted me to be strong, Your Grace!” The look on his face at his title stung her, but she knew she could not let this continue if she wanted to gain the respect of the men around her. She wanted to be loved and adored too. She wanted them to gaze upon her with the same looks they gave Jon.

“I am done with this, Jon. I do not know how much you are involved with this mummer’s farce, but you will not always be here to protect me. I have been here for how long now, and I am treated like a doll! This is my land! My home! My men! Yet I feel like I am a piece of glass, like I will shatter at any time! This will end _now._ ”

She panted after her outburst. His face was incredulous. She wanted to smack him even more.

“You are shielding me. From what, I don’t know. You are preventing me from being involved and learning and becoming stronger, just like you want me to be. When will I be strong enough, Your Grace?” she challenged. He was not amused if his expression was any indication.

“I am only doing this temporarily, Sansa. I am worried for your safety above all else. I won’t always be here, just like you said.”

Tears sprang to her eyes at the reminder. “You’re right. You won’t. I will be alone. Who will protect me then?”

They stared at each other. She wanted at that moment to be so mad at him, but just thinking of when he would leave her hurt so badly that it sucked the very air from her chest.

“No more, Jon. I have to prove who I am. I have to show these men that I can lead. That you aren’t controlling me from the shadows. When the men see me, they glance away. I feel pitied. They need to know that I can do this without you. It will only get worse...”

He reached for her, but she would not let him hold her. “Jon... I... I love you. You and Dany are all I have. And it scares me so much to know that you are leaving at some point in the near future. It’s a very real possibility I will never see you again, or not for many years.” He looked pained, his Stark eyes full of hurt and something else she couldn’t define. “I’m not denying that I need you. But you are going about this the wrong way. You have done so much for me. I really do feel better about myself and what has happened to me in my past. All because of you. But we are taking a step backwards.”

He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. He was frustrated. “Sansa, I hope you know that none of this was intentional. You know that we do not have full support here. Your life is at risk right now. If the wrong people knew you were here, you could be dead. The lords that we have gathered here all agreed that it was in your best interest. But... you’re right.”

She had to fight the grin that wanted to explode on her face. Instead, she remained firm. She had to do this right. She had to show Jon that she was strong instead of acting like a giddy girl at his acceptance.

“I know I’m right, Jon. You are supposed to be doing this for me, not yourself. I know you are scared that something could happen to me. Fear... it makes people irrational. Both you and I know that.”

He looked... sad. Both of them knew what she was saying. They knew so much of each other’s pasts at this point in their relationship that there was no point in hiding anything anymore.

“You set me up perfectly within the Vale. It was hard, but I did it. And I feel...this _fierceness_ inside me now, Jon. You did that for me. I hope you know that.”

She could see the almost undeniable urge for him to hold her tightly rise in him at that moment, but he held himself from her. She was glad.

“Let me lead my people. I want to show you what I can do. Or can’t do, so you can help me learn. Hiding me away, keeping me from the meetings... I am not learning. I am just... dying inside.”

Her words wounded him, she was sure. He stood there, in the cold wind, watching her. His hair was longer than usual, as was his beard, and her exterior almost cracked as she wanted so badly to smile or laugh at him. He looked every bit the ruggedly handsome Northman, especially in his furs. He definitely was not the well-dressed, put together man that ruled the Seven Kingdoms.

Thoughts of him being called King in the North returned, but she forcefully shoved it away into the back of her mind for another time. For now, it was about her and the wrong that Jon had been doing her for the last moon.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, cupping her wind-burnt cheek. “I am just so afraid of losing you.”

It took everything in her to not burst into tears then. If he only knew of how afraid _she_ was of losing him, perhaps he would think differently. At least he had Daenerys.

She had no one.

“There are things I need to tell you, Sansa. Things that have been hidden from both you and me, but that I have known since being back. This last moon has been nothing but a huge weight upon my shoulders. It’s time you knew.”

She didn’t know whether or not to be afraid, worried, or perhaps even happy. What could he have possibly been hiding from her?

She had no idea how huge it really was until she was escorted deep into the castle and through a secret passageway, when she was inside the old castle turned prison, known as the Wolf’s Den. At first she thought she was going to meet a prisoner, but as the area began to dry and smell clean, she knew it was something much bigger than that.

They had been hiding someone.

And as she stared into his face, into a face that she had not seen in so long, tears fell from her that she didn’t know she had in her.

Everything she had fought for was for naught.

For she beheld Rickon Stark within her gaze.

 

**Author's Note** : Please review!

 

Follow my Tumblr at gohansonna2 :)


	34. Chapter 34

**Author’s Note** : Hello dear readers. I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I have been waiting for some time for my beta Aiur to contact me, to no avail :( I was hesitant to post this chapter as I have had a beta for a great majority of this story, but I didn’t want to wait any longer. If anyone is good at the English language and book!verse and would like to beta and discuss my story/ideas with me, please let me know!

 

*He hath returned!!!! <3* Thanks to Aiur for the beta, although late :P

 

Dothraki in chapter, definition at the bottom.

 

Please follow me on Tumblr! <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gohansonna2>

 

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty Four

 

Tormund

 

The first time he laid eyes upon the lady he knew it would be impossible to keep his trap shut.

“By the old gods! Those teats could feed a village! HAR!”

The look on the Lord Crow’s face made him throw back his head and laugh long and hard. “What, you haven’t had a bit o’ a peek at them? Perhaps a fondle or two? Heard she be your cousin, nothing too wrong with that as I hear from you southron folk.”

He didn’t think too much at the reddening of Jon’s face as the boy was the shy type and he had never heard him utter a foul or naughty thing about a woman as far as he could remember. He couldn’t even recall him saying anything about Val, and she had been beautiful as well.

But looking at this lady, Tormund knew he was in trouble.

He watched her walk gracefully across the brightly lit great hall in a gown of white silk and grey damask, the colors of House Stark. Her hair was a fiery red, the loveliest shade of red he swore he had ever laid eyes on.

“I’d bury my face in that hair and never leave it. I’d bury my member in her other red hair too—”

“Utter another word and you will no longer have a member, Tormund.”

“Har! Lord Snow laying claim?”

Jon’s face was like ice when he turned to him. It was perhaps the most serious he had ever seen him. It almost made him shut his mouth. Almost.

“No, Tormund. Lady Sansa is off limits. Remember that.”

“We will see about that! Heard the lady needs a husband, I’ll steal her myself and show her a true Northman!”

He received a vicious glare before he watched the king stalk away and join the glorious creature at the other end of Merman’s Court. He continued to observe from a distance as the two spoke quietly. Neither acknowledged anyone else around them as they spoke. He watched his future wife throw back her head and laugh at something Jon said, and the subsequent smile on his typically dour face.

Tormund admitted that he could outdrink, outfight, and outsing any man there, but he wasn’t cunning enough to wed the lady if it came down to it. He was growing old, but he wasn’t growing dumb, and he certainly wasn’t dumb enough to not see how protective the king was of his lady cousin. Jon had previously hidden the gem away as if he was afraid for her, and had only recently allowed her more freedoms. Tormund had been curious as to why, and hoped that the meeting of the Northern lords the next day might tell him the motive behind it.

Ah, Northern lords. He still couldn’t believe that the former Lord Crow would be bestowing a castle upon him, and the Dreadfort no less. Although it was a private matter and had been for some time—seeing as how Ramsay was in control of the North—Jon planned on giving it to him shortly after the Lady Stark returned to power. But even though he wasn’t officially styled as “Lord Tormund”, Jon had wanted him involved in the matters of the North, and had included him in every meeting he had held since Tormund had arrived a fortnight earlier from his farmstead in the New Gift.

He looked forward to learning all about the beautiful Lady Sansa Stark.

 

* * *

 

Rehhi

 

The poison water hardly fazed her anymore.

Once, what seemed like many ages ago, she would have been ill and throwing up her insides. She would have cried for the horses that made it known how scared and sick they were. She would have tended to the people around her as they moaned in misery.

But now she just rocked with the motion of the ship and watched the city grow in the distance.

A smile appeared on her aged brown face and showed a significant gap between her front teeth. It had been well over two moons since she had last seen her Sansa and she was so close to her now, she could almost imagine the warmth and beauty of her pale face when they were reunited.

It had not taken _khaleesi_ long to see how much she had grown attached to the younger woman. Rehhi had been one of Daenerys’s Dothraki handmaidens that served her in all her needs, before Sansa had arrived and Daenerys had asked her to care for the girl. Rehhi had been teaching Lady Sansa the ways of the Dothraki, and the girl had taken to it wonderfully and with much honor and respect for the culture.

Rehhi had noticed her absence immediately after Sansa had departed Dragonstone. After tending to the girl when she had first arrived in King's Landing, she had grown very protective of her after learning what had befallen her. She had watched the girl come to life at the dragon castle, much like a flower in the desert after rain, and had come to love her joy and sweet smiles.

Poor _khaleesi_ had known so quickly what was wrong. And while she had been sad to see Rehhi gone, she knew that Sansa would be in the best of hands and have a true friend, not just a servant.

“Go,” the dragon queen had demanded in firm Dothraki shortly after their return to King's Landing. “I can see how much her loss pains you, Rehhi. Every day a piece of you dies. Sansa loved how much you cared for her. I saw you two hug when you parted ways. It is time for you to be rejoined. Sansa needs a friend.”

Rehhi had embraced her _khaleesi_ fiercely before she boarded the ship for the long journey. But it would be worth it.

The air was colder than anything she had ever felt before. Even in King's Landing it had snowed, but the cold had never felt anything like this. The thin furs given to her were barely warding off the chill.

It didn’t matter. Soon she would see her _erinak_ and she would be able to care for her and protect her. She would continue to teach her the ways of the Dothraki, the ways of a strong woman and a woman who knew how to fight and survive.

Soon she no longer felt the cold as she thought of seeing her friend. The ship pulled into the huge harbor and the castle loomed large and sprawling so near. The port stank of fish and rot but it could not hold back her excitement.

Large trunks were off loaded from the ship—gifts from Queen Daenerys from King's Landing to Lady Sansa, and her husband King Jon. She had no idea what was in the chests, but they were special enough for four Unsullied to guard them at all times.

Several White Harbor guardsmen approached them and asked them to state their business. After they were presented a sealed and signed letter from the queen herself, she, along with the chests and the Unsullied, were escorted to the castle. A guard raced ahead to inform the lord of White Harbor.

As they came closer to the castle, she marveled at the half-woman half-fish statues, fish carvings and paintings, and other aquatic creatures that seemed to be everywhere. It was as if the town and castle wanted to become one with the ocean. It was almost disgusting to her to see how much this place loved the sea, as someone who barely tolerated the sea herself.

It didn’t take long for her to hear a commotion up ahead. She grinned ear to ear when she heard the voice of the one she missed so much.

“Rehhi! What are you doing here?” She was immediately embraced. She held onto the child for some time, feeling tears prick her eyes as she remembered what the girl had gone through and why she felt so fiercely protective of her. She prayed to her gods that she had grown stronger, and not weaker, in her absence.

“I miss my Sansa,” she croaked, and then heard a delicate sniffle from the lady.

“I missed you so,” she heard against her ear, whispered softly. Rehhi could hear many unspoken words in that tone, and knew that they would speak later on, like they had in King's Landing and Dragonstone. They had much to catch up on.

“Come,” her Sansa said, her ivory face glowing with pleasure as they clasped hands and began walking towards the gatehouse. “I want to tell you everything.”

 

* * *

 

The Lost Queen

 

She had not felt happy since she had left the Vale, if that made any sense. A perverse part of her realized the last moment she had felt truly happy was when she had taken the lives of the men that had done her wrong.

Her happiness at returning home had been taken away by Jon, whether it was inadvertent or not. Then finding out that her brother Rickon was alive killed any semblance of a chance she had at becoming Lady Stark, and all chances of happiness died with it.

Suddenly she was no longer Lady Stark, but Lady Sansa, an extremely eligible highborn lady that needed married off... and the lords and their sons in White Harbor were disgustingly interested.

Almost all of them were old or maimed, and those of whom who were not were too young, hideous, or gross. Several were wildlings that Jon had promised titles to. She privately despaired that even as Lady Stark she would have been forced to choose one of them anyhow. Perhaps it was better that she was Lady Sansa, for she now could have better marriage prospects in the rest of Westeros, rather than just the North.

There were a couple young men that were promising, but they weren’t lords, and while they were proven warriors, Sansa couldn’t just marry anyone.

Her private, depressed musings continued until she just wished she would never marry anyone.

She was dying inside the entire time the council was meeting, Jon at the head of the table and her at his left. At one time she would have been at his right... but now that was Rickon.

The boy was all of eight and barely tame. He’d left their mother at such a young age and had been subjected to all manners of wildling mischief, war, and life. He argued with Jon as if he weren’t the king of the Seven Kingdoms, half the time speaking a garbled language that she later learned was the Old Tongue. An aged man by the name of Tormund barked at her brother several times in the language, calming him for a bit, but he would just get riled up again shortly after. Jon had to keep him from jumping onto the table more than once.

She could see Jon’s frustration over the situation. The lords around the table argued and shouted and demanded. She knew exactly what she would have done had she been named as Lady Stark, but instead she sat demurely with her hands upon her lap, feeling defeated.

Jon looked down at her from his standing position next to her, and she wanted to cry at the sight of his silvery grey eyes also looking defeated. He, the king, was defeated. She felt like shattering into a thousand pieces.

Instead she rose from her seat, making the men around her stand as a courtesy. She smoothed her gown of dark purple velvet and adjusted the sable fur at her shoulders before she looked at the assembly. She fought the urge to swallow nervously, but knew she had to do something before she broke down. How to do it without looking even weaker than she already was?

 _Be a proper cunt,_ she heard in the back of her head, and almost laughed at the thought of Sandor.

“While I am rather enjoying the bickering of the women here, I do grow tired of it. Please, my lords, excuse me.”

Heads bowed and bobbed as she exited the guarded room. The mutterings she heard made her roll her eyes in irritation as soon as she left. Then she was striding as swiftly as she could with her heavy dress hampering her, hoping to make it to her rooms before she had tears rolling down her face.

“Sansa. Wait.”

_Jon. Oh gods, please not now. I don’t want to cry in front of you._

She stopped in a dark alcove where torchlight barely reached, hoping he would not notice. But the first thing he did was come too close, his gloved hand reaching for her chin and lifting her face to his so he could see her.

“Don’t cry,” he said, so quietly she had to strain to hear him. And that was all it took for her to break apart.

She sobbed and fell against him. His arms came around her tightly, and she clutched at him with all her strength.

“I can’t. I just can’t, Jon.”

She felt his head shake against hers. “You can,” he said, and she could hear his voice clogged with some emotion he wouldn’t speak of. “You can, and you will. This is just another barrier, Sansa. Another one that you will defeat.”

She let out a broken laugh and dashed at her face with one of her hands before she fisted it once more into the fur at his shoulder. “Barrier? You mean my brother? How can I defeat my own flesh and blood, Jon?”

“Sansa, that’s not what I—”

She pulled away just far enough to look into his eyes. They looked obsidian in the darkness around them. “Then what? The horrid marriage proposals by dozens of men who are older than my father? Men who are missing limbs, men who probably couldn’t get their cocks hard if—”

She felt and saw the shock on Jon’s face immediately before he interrupted her. His voice was harsh. “Those men fought—”

“—For the North, I know! I am being selfish and greedy and I can’t help it, Jon! Gods, I am so miserable... I have lost everything. Everything. It’s gone...”

Images of her standing at the ramparts of Winterfell, a summer snow falling around her as she watched the people working hard in the courtyard were fading in her mind. The memory of her father burned with desperation in her heart, and she felt it grow in intensity until it suddenly dissipated, as if it too had given up and died.

She wondered how full of pride her father would be if he saw her then.

“Father would be disgusted with me if he could see me now. He would hate me...”

Jon’s fingers wrapped around her arms until it hurt. It felt good to hurt in a different way, and she clung to the feeling.

“Father... Eddard Stark would _never_ be disgusted with you, Sansa. Never.” His voice sounded desperate, but fierce. “Do you even realize what you have gone through since you left Winterfell all those years ago? The torture, the deaths you’ve seen and experienced, the manipulation, the abuse, starvation, rape? And for you to come out of it as one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms, the most desired woman in Westeros, potentially the most powerful besides the queen herself? How could he ever be disgusted? You escaped death itself and conquered life again, Sansa, and you can’t let this stupidity get to you. We will find a way around it, I promise. When have I let you down?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, her heart pounding hard and swift in her chest. She could feel his breath upon her face, his fingers still grasping her arms tightly. She wetted her suddenly dry lips with her tongue.

“Never,” she whispered. Even in King's Landing, when he had vowed to protect her and she had been captured, Jon had still saved her. He had done everything in his power to keep her safe, even spiriting her away from King's Landing to make sure she stayed that way.

And now they were here.

They were quiet for some time. She could hear their breathing in the small, shadowed corner. His hold on her lessened and the pain faded. But just as quickly as the pain ended, warmth and love enveloped her as his arms wrapped around her once more. She pressed her face into the leather on his chest, a metal clasp in the shape of a dragon pressing into her temple, but she cared not.

All that mattered was him.

“I will never allow something to happen to you that hurts you again, Sansa.”

And she knew that he meant it.

 

* * *

 

Jon

 

He hadn’t realized how terribly hard Sansa clutched to the idea that she would be the Lady of Winterfell and the Warden of the North until it was ripped from her grasp.

Now he was stuck in the middle of an eight year old boy who cared nothing for Winterfell and a woman who wanted it more than anything.

He paced back and forth in his room, pausing every so often as he tried to clear his mind. All he could think about was Sansa and how destroyed she had looked as he held her, trying to comfort her.

_If it hadn’t been the right thing to do, I would have never told Sansa of Rickon. I would have let the world go on thinking the boy was dead. But it would have been wrong._

Lord Wylis had held the boy for an unknown amount of time. The story Jon had been told of his rescue from Skagos by Ser Davos Seaworth was incredible, and Jon had commended the lord for his loyalty and protection of his true liege lord. No one but the most trusted of guards and family members had known that Rickon Stark was alive until Jon had arrived with what he had assumed was the future Lady of Winterfell.

Lord Wylis spoke of Rickon’s rehabilitation and how he had progressed, but he was still a bit of a wild thing. He clearly favored the Free Folk and their ways, and was harsh in his actions and attitude. Jon had spoken to the boy several times and he communicated well enough, but he was definitely far from becoming the man his father had been.

Rickon remembered very little of his family, but he remembered everything of the direwolves. He had been happy to speak of Shaggydog, who was ensconced in the room next to his. When they had visited, the black wolf had snarled at Jon until Rickon had calmed him.

Jon felt horrified that neither Rickon nor Shaggydog had seen the light of day in ages. The chamber the wolf was kept in was covered in rushes but still stank of piss and shit. It was no way for a direwolf to live.

It made him think of his own direwolf, and he frowned. Daenerys had written him a letter speaking of Ghost’s disappearance immediately after they had left Dragonstone. The tales they had heard of at council meetings some time ago of direwolves roaming the Riverlands and Crownlands had also increased. Jon wondered if Ghost had felt the need to join his brethren while he was gone in the North. It upset him however, as he had told Ghost to protect Dany in his absence.

He rubbed his forehead. His thoughts were scattered.

Receiving his wife’s letter the day before had been a relief he hadn’t known he needed. Reading her words, it was almost as if he could hear her lovely voice. Her letter had been long and full of several stories that had him feeling happy that things were being taken care of and resolved in King's Landing. She thankfully said not one word of his potential marriage to another woman, and instead spoke of how much she missed him... very vividly. He was sure his face had been red by the end of the letter, just as sure as his cock was hard.

The little vixen had done it on purpose. He felt frustrated that she wasn’t there for him to ravish, and even now he groaned and slapped his hand over his face in something akin to agony. If he’d had the time he would have taken care of the problem himself, but he had very little time when they were preparing to retake the North from a tyrant.

Which brought him right back to the issue with Sansa and Rickon.

He sat down in an ornate wooden chair at his large desk and tried to think of the best way to placate Sansa and Rickon at the same time. All while putting the North in the best possible situation.

An idea was forming in his head when he heard a horn blow nearby. It was a familiar sound, one that he had heard several times over the last moon as men who were trusted and believed a Stark to be their true lord arrived to plot the overthrow of Ramsay Bolton. He was expecting one or two more arrivals, but as he looked through the leaded glass of a window, he realized that this was no mere lord.

He whirled with anger from the window and stormed from his chamber.

 

 

* * *

 

 **Author’s Note** : Thank you as always for reading <3 Please review!

 

Please follow me on Tumblr! <https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gohansonna2>

 

Also please check out my Jon/Sansa one-shot, rated M: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8380372

 

Dothraki:

 _Erinak -_ Lady


	35. Chapter 35

**Author’s Note** : Sorry for the late chapter! Things have been nuts with the new baby, husband with cancer, and the holidays! I’ve also been exceptionally busy with work :(

 

Good news for those interested, my husband has two more treatments of chemo and he’s done! After that he will have a scan to see if the cancer is gone! Thank you all for the prayers and thoughts and general caring. It means everything.

 

*****As a side note...a lot of people have been posting about their general hatred (or joy) of Sansa or one situation or another in this story. I can understand the frustration and irritation that the story may go one way or another. I will, however, not reveal what is going to happen in the tags. I would like for everyone to read and discover what happens on its own. I did write at the beginning of the story that I would not put tags up until things happened, as I don’t want to ruin anything! Also, as I have stated, this story DOES have a POLYGAMY tag. Whether that means Jon marries Margaery, Sansa, or some random wench in the Seven Kingdoms...he will wed another. Sorry if this makes anyone stop reading... *****

 

Thank you to the best beta in the Known World – Aiur.

 

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty Five

 

The Lost Queen

 

Margaery.

Neither she nor Jon had been aware that she was coming. She had been breaking her fast in her apartments with Rehhi when a horn had blown. At first she had thought little of the sound, as they were still expecting the Greatjon to arrive. It took only a cursory glance out of her window to realize it was not the Umbers.

The entourage from Highgarden making its way through the city gates was enormous. The trail of men and horse went far beyond her vision, way out into the distance.

Sansa barely had enough time to finish chewing her food before Jon and Lord Manderly were at her door, demanding her presence.

She had threaded her arm through Jon’s only a moment before Lady Margaery and her grandmother, Lady Olenna, had appeared from a huge armored carriage house, followed by what looked to be several cousins. To see Margaery looking so lovely and put together had immediately suffocated her already downtrodden spirits, but to instantly know _why_ she was there was even worse.

Jon’s dark grey eyes had collided with her blue ones, and all of the blood drained from his face.

She imagined hers did much the same.

Margaery’s perfect oval countenance had brightened the moment she saw Jon, and Sansa just felt sick watching the exchange.

The beautiful, low curtsey... Margaery giving Jon her soft, white hand for him to kiss… The look of disbelief the king consort was giving the woman before him. He hid his emotions carefully, for Margaery’s smile never faltered. Perhaps Sansa only noticed it because she knew him so well.

The woman was smart, however, for she also paid her respects to Sansa with another curtsey, eyeing her simple morning garb with a bit of obvious distaste, but still acknowledging her as Lady Stark. Perhaps if Sansa had not been so stunned, she would have made a mirthless smirk at her own countenance.

_Lady Stark, indeed._

The skillful way that Lady Margaery managed to maneuver she and Jon apart still had her feathers ruffled. She had been clinging quite heartily to him, possibly even hurting him, when the new arrival elegantly placed herself between them. All it took was a well-placed hand upon Jon’s chest and his arm had fallen from Sansa’s. She would have been completely insulted if it were not for the fact that Jon immediately placed his hand on top of Margaery’s to remove it. That had left Jon having to choose between escorting Sansa or Margaery, and because Margaery was the new, honored arrival, propriety dictated he escort her. Not to mention there was a lack of space within the rapidly filling courtyard and walkways for Jon to escort the both of them.

The so-called Warden of the North thought she was going to have to walk behind them, unescorted, and felt miserable in the worst way as she watched Jon and Margaery stroll away. She was dowdy compared to the Maid of Highgarden, as she had been ill-prepared for her arrival. Wearing a plain grey morning gown and unadorned black cloak, her hair in a simple braid down her back, she was nothing compared to the brown-haired, doe-eyed vision that had stepped out of the carriage in her southern finery. It was just the sort of thing Margaery would use against her at some point, friends or not.

“I will escort you, my lady.”

Lord Wylis Manderly, with his pale, flapping neck flesh, offered his arm. So much of his weight had been lost after he had been tortured in the south that he just looked ill. But Sansa was grateful and took his arm despite the food stains upon the fabric.

Now she was sitting in her rooms, preparing most vigorously for the evening meal. She had been separated from Jon since the former queen had arrived, and her lips pursed at the mirror in front of her, her thoughts running wild and desperate.

Everything was changing. Much too quickly.

Rehhi was behind her, nattering away in Dothraki. Sansa managed to catch a few words here and there, but she was a bit rusty after being away from the woman for a few moons.

“Jealousy does not become _zhey erinak_.”

Sansa looked up to see the woman wagging her brown finger at her, and had to smile half-heartedly. The older woman saw all, and love flooded her. She was glad she was here. She had missed her so. It was so rare to have someone care for you the way Rehhi did for her. She was a like a mother and a friend combined.

“I don’t know how to feel right now, Rehhi. I am sick to my stomach. And confused.”

“Because of flower _mezhah_?”

Sansa let out a short laugh. “ _Ai,_ Rehhi. Among many others. I am so glad you are here.”

Rehhi chuckled and began the process of brushing out her long, red hair. She took her time, threading her fingers through it, smelling it, searching for any foreign objects. She brushed it until it shined in the light of the candles and lamps in the room. “ _Khaleesi_ knew I missed you. Told me to leave. I braved the poison water for you.”

Sansa felt honored that Rehhi cared so deeply for her that she would take a ship from King's Landing to be by her side. She could remember the few Dothraki that had come with them to Dragonstone and how they had hated the passage on ship. They did not like anything their horses could not drink.

They were quiet for some time as Rehhi helped her prepare for the formal event. A large armoire filled with elegant dresses and furs was debated upon, until Rehhi suggested a new arrival quite slyly. The wicked smiles upon their faces ended up making them both burst out into giggles.

“Flower lady will be the jealous one, _zhey erinak._ All men will stare.”

Sansa looked into the mirror and saw a determined face.

_All men…_

 

* * *

 

Jon

 

The presence of Lady Margaery was acutely annoying.

The moment he had seen her envoy pulling into the seaside town, he had known exactly why she was there.

_Damn you, Dany. Damn you..._

He found out after her arrival that she was actually there to marry Ramsay Bolton and had just finished months of traveling from Highgarden all the way to White Harbor, spreading the goodwill and charity of Ramsay, her future husband. The one thousand man army was just for protection, of course.

It was all a ploy, and he knew it. Her “charity” consisted of visiting lords and ladies in their castles, speaking of the wonders of the North and the ways that they could aid them south of the Neck. The Riverlands were still war-torn, and would be recovering for years to come. The whole point of her travels was to garner support for the North and to broker trade agreements to help the North acquire revenue for repairs. Simple commodities known in the North like ice were much harder to acquire in the south, and with Lady Margaery opening the minds and hearts of the lords below the Neck, it would make things considerably easier for Sansa... or rather, Rickon, to negotiate.

While he appreciated her efforts, her mannerisms had him on edge.

Her smiles and looks were less than maidenly, even somewhat wicked, and they certainly were not being reserved for Ramsay, her supposed betrothed. Her dress was also inappropriate by Northern customs, as it revealed more than necessary. He worried that she would catch a cold... but perhaps that was her purpose. It had not taken long for him to offer his cloak to her, and he immediately regretted his kindness as she looked up at him through her eyelashes and thanked him. She then made it a point to make sure everyone noticed it as she asked for a tour of the castle, fascination upon her features making her skin glow becomingly.

Sansa had excused herself immediately after returning to the castle, pleading sweetly that she had not finished her morning meal. He had not seen her since. Her pale face had concerned him, but he knew that Sansa could take care of herself.

Jon found his shoulders acquiring a stiffness the longer he was in the presence of the Maid of Highgarden. Margaery was extremely smart and calculating, and he was learning quite rapidly just how clever she was. He feared she was much more intelligent than he was, for she seemed to corner him into admitting things he did not want to, and speaking of things that were private. She managed to pry information out of him easily, and even more unfortunately, she made him laugh once.

_Was this your ploy, Daenerys? Did you know that this woman would be able to manipulate me? Did you send her here under the guise of marrying that bastard Ramsay, only for her to become my new queen in the end?_

For years one of his greatest wishes had been to become a father. He had hoped deep down inside that one day he would marry and have children that he could name Robb and Bran and Arya, and even Rickon, before he had known he was alive. He knew that Daenerys was the same—she desperately wanted children, possibly even more than he did—but as of yet in their short marriage, they had not conceived. He had hopes though, as he knew several people that had taken many years to have a child, decades even. He just wished Daenerys understood that they might need time.

He privately feared, however, that she really could not have children, as she suspected. He told himself that he could live with that—that he didn’t need children or to pass on his bloodline—but he knew his duty was to the realm and leaving Westeros without an heir was asking for a full scale war. The moment Daenerys was on her deathbed without an heir, the seven hells would break loose, whether he was king or not.

He could just imagine the High Septon now. _“The king is a bastard, unworthy of the throne of the seven kingdoms. The crown should be cast from his head!”_

Margaery was a means to an end. A guarantee that he would have children, a guarantee that Westeros would be safe. At least as safe as it could be.

But did he want her as his queen? Could he stomach the thought of taking her to bed, knowing that his first wife was in the other room, torn that she could not give her husband, her consort, an heir?

At one point he had imagined that he was too honorable for such a thing, taking another to wife. But moons had passed since Daenerys had made her declaration, and he had had time to think of the disasters that could occur if he refused. Ygritte and Val came to mind, along with his vow to the Night’s Watch, and he snorted to himself.

Some honor he had.

He could cross Daenerys and potentially start a war. He could marry Margaery and please his wife and make her hate him all the same.

Or he could choose someone else. Someone he actually cared for, and loved...

His head ached with his thoughts, and he sought to distract himself with idle chatter. It ended up not being very successful.

The evening meal was formal that night, and he was not looking forward to sitting next to Margaery, as courtesy demanded. Even now as people milled about dressed in their finest furs and leathers, he felt her eyes on him. Occasionally he would glance upwards and see her speaking to some lord or lady, only to look directly at him, smile demurely, and look away.

Part of him wondered why he was even trying to see if she was looking at him.

She was still dressed in a way that made the Northmen in the hall gape in astonishment and the women bristle with resentment. The bright colors and jewelry were also something they were not accustomed to. They were all so used to being bundled up in furs, leather, and thick dresses in dull shades. After all of the wars it was all practicality and function, not finery. It amused him to think of how his people would react if they were to go to King's Landing.

He was managing a decent conversation with Torghen Flint and his sons, Artos and Donnell, and his grandson Mikhos, son of Artos, discussing marriage and various proposals, when the call to meal sounded. He nodded to the clansmen and made his way to the high table. Almost on cue, Lady Margaery and her grandmother Lady Olenna were at his side, curtseying. He forced a smile and escorted both ladies to the table to his left. He noted the absence of Sansa and Lord Wylis with some concern, hoping that nothing was wrong, especially with Rickon, who was not permitted to be present. Very few people knew of his existence and they planned to keep it that way for the time being.

As he sat, he noted with a slight frown that House Manderly was displaying their wealth quite lavishly. They were obviously rich from trade and taxes and were one of the few houses that had come through relatively unscathed from the wars, not counting loss of life.They showed their power and affluence well with how they were feasting their guests. Lady Leona, heavy with child, and her daughters, Wynafred and Wylla were dressed beautifully. The servants brought out silver trays laden with roasted fowl, goat, and fish encrusted with nuts and honey. Jellies, creams, pastries, and plums stewed in rose water. Wines and ale were poured in silver goblets. It reminded him of King’s Landing.

He was given first choice of all food, as he was the king. He had always felt awkward doing so, but had become used to it over time. He would nod or lift his hand when he wanted to decline. The men and women in the overfilled hall knew not to eat until the king did, and he looked over the din to see if Sansa had arrived yet, as the two seats on his immediate right were empty. Lord Manderly was also still missing, and he could see his lady wife whispering to her daughters, concern clear on her plump pink face.

“Is Lady Sansa ill, Your Grace? She looked rather sallow this morning; I thought perhaps she was coming down with something.”

Jon turned to look down at Lady Margaery sitting prettily to his left. He wanted to frown at the thought of Sansa looking sallow—which she never did—and wondered why the lady would say such a thing.

“Lady Sansa is well, I’m sure. I think I will have someone check just in case, however.” Last time Sansa had been gone too long had nearly ended in a disaster.

Lady Margaery tittered and waved her hand through the air. Her laugh drew the attention of most of the men in the hall. “Your Grace, she is more than likely fine, just as you say. Perhaps she needs time alone? She has been gone all day without a word. I think it would be best if you left her in peace. Sometimes we women need time by ourselves.”

He ignored her and waved Broken Beetle forward from his position behind his chair.

Just as the Unsullied stepped away, there was a hush through the hall. Four Manderly guards walked forward, followed by their lord and at his side, Lady Sansa.

His jaw dropped.

Somewhere in the background he heard Lady Margaery say something in a thin voice, but he was unsure what. Lady Olenna huffed and made some offhanded comment, but at this point he hardly cared.

On the arm of Lord Manderly, Sansa glowed in a way he had never seen before _._ In the colors of House Stark she shimmered from the firelight all around her.

Her hair was styled high upon her head, intricately detailed in such a way that it looked like delicate ringlets of flame cascading to her shoulders. Her dress was magnificent; an obviously costly piece that he could only assume Daenerys had a hand in.

Her neck and shoulders were bare, the dress starting at the curve of her breasts and under her arms. The sleeves were so long they nearly touched the floor. The fabric of the sleeves and her upper body were exquisite—delicate black beadwork and gems had been sewn into the grey bodice in the shape of snowflakes, making it look like it was snowing all the way to the floor. From there the fabric color and gemstones faded into pure white. From waist to hem tiny diamonds had also been sewn into the cloth, furthering the look of falling snow.

The hush in the hall was barely noticeable as Lord Manderly escorted Lady Sansa to the front of the dais. Even Wylis had made it a point to dress in clothing that was not food stained. He looked proud to be escorting his lady himself, and several hoots and hollers of jealousy started, making Sansa turn becomingly pink. Even he himself smiled and laughed when he saw Tormund bash his forehead straight into his trencher in mock disbelief.

Lord Manderly stopped in front of the High Table, where Jon and everyone else rose.

“Your Grace, may I present Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North!”

He stared in confusion, but everyone in the hall began cheering loudly. He was unsure why Wylis would say such a thing when he knew it to be untrue... but maybe he had his reasons. The cheers continued as Wylis and Sansa bowed and curtsied deeply, and then walked around the table to be seated.

Wylis handed Sansa over to him with a wink, furthering his confusion at his announcement. Instead of pondering it, he turned to Sansa. He placed a kiss to her hand, watching with amusement as her blush deepened.

“You are one of the fairest sights I’ve ever seen, my lady,” he said. Her eyes widened the slightest bit, but then a charming smile replaced her surprise.

“Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a short curtsey, “you honor me.”

“The honor is mine,” he said softly, watching as her eyes shone with a faint sheen of tears. She blinked several times to hold them back, her dark eyelashes spiking wetly across her flushed cheeks.

He sat her between himself and Lord Manderly. Their seating arrangements were odd, but only on his personal request. Courtesy dictated that he sit at the right hand of Lord Manderly, but he insisted that Sansa should, as they were here for her, not him.

It did, however, inconveniently place him next to Lady Margaery.

“It was kind of Lord Manderly to announce me in such a way,” Sansa said quietly, leaning into him just the slightest bit so no one would overhear them.

Sadness and frustration returned to him at her words. The longing he heard in them was powerful. He didn’t really know what to say, so instead he looked at her and hoped she could see how he felt in his eyes.

She must have, for she reached for his hand under the table and squeezed it tightly.

He squeezed back.

 

* * *

 

Missandei

 

It had not taken long for the queen to ask her to return to her bed.

However much she wished it though, the queen only wanted her as a bedmate. The loneliness that exuded from the silver-haired woman was enough for Missandei to be concerned for her wellbeing.

She had other reasons to be concerned for her wellbeing as it was.

Very few people knew the cause of the queen’s extreme mood swings: Ser Barristan, Tyrion, and herself.

“No one shall know. No one. There are too many risks involved and we don’t know if this will even come to term,” Dany had said, her face pale and drawn.

She was resting now, as was common at this time of day. Her shoulder length hair fanned across the feather pillow, where Missandei stroked it gently, lovingly.

She was dozing lightly when her queen spoke.

“I will not tell Jon.”

It took her a moment to process her words. She opened her eyes and saw Daenerys watching her, her purple eyes dark in the dim room.

“Your Grace, you must.”

Dany was quiet for several long moments. “Even if this happens... even if I don’t lose it, I need to make _sure_ , Missandei. I need children to flood this keep. If they are not of my blood, but they are of his... that is what matters. I _cannot_ risk it.”

They were clutching each other’s hands. The emotion in her queen’s voice was thick, nearly on the brink of tears. “How will you expect King Jon to come home to a child he knew nothing about? He will feel angry. Betrayed, even.”

Daenerys nodded, but her expression was fretful. “I know... I know. I would never intentionally harm him like this... but there is so much at stake. If the right people found out I could be targeted. Ravens would not be safe. Sending Rotted Tongue with a message to the North to tell him would be horrible, only for me to inform him he still must wed another... and then what if I lost the baby? How heartbroken he would be to not find out for so long after it happened? So many ifs, Missandei. I feel like it would be best to just not tell him.”

Missandei did not like the thought. “If you lose the babe, will you tell him then?”

She was quiet again. Then she felt a nod. “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

Tyrion

 

“Lord Hand, you flatter me with your praise.”

Tyrion felt the corners of his eyes crinkle with his grin. Lady Jynessa Blackmont stood before him in a delightfully revealing gown of yellow trimmed in black satin. As heir to Blackmont, unwed, and comely, she was one of the few on his list that he had calculated as an excellent match for the king consort.

There were many other lovely ladies about him this evening. The banquet feasting Grey Worm for his visit from Meereen was large, and all of the women thinking to marry King Jon were in attendance.

He couldn’t tell if Daenerys was happy or upset about all the wenches cavorting and giggling about her. He knew how she felt about Jon wedding another, but he knew that deep down, she did not want to share her husband as well.

He also held her secret dearly to his heart, one that so few of them knew of and hoped to come to fruition.  He had already slapped her hand away from her belly that evening, as it was a telltale sign of being with child.

Watching all of the beautiful creatures about him made him long for his once-wife, Alestra. It had been months since he had last seen her. Their communication consisted of short letters, and most of the time she didn’t deign to reply.

She was soon to birth their child, and Tyrion despised the thought of having a bastard. In truth he knew he needed an heir, and while he knew Daenerys would not have a problem proclaiming the child legitimate, as she did Jon, part of him disliked the idea entirely. Perhaps it was the Lannister in him. A sick part of him was also amused, however, as he had always thought of himself as a bastard in the practical sense of the word.

The love Alestra had supposedly felt for him appeared so petty now. That it could be so quickly undone by something he honestly had no power over and could so quickly be rectified just by having another ceremony. At first he had thought her anger understandable for a pregnant woman, but as the moons had traipsed by, he had felt despair grow within him.

Every woman he had ever loved had ended up leaving in one foul way or another.

He wondered if there was an actual point in falling in love anymore. He was aging quite ungracefully and ugly as all the sin in the Seven Kingdoms... but he was possibly the richest of all the men in Westeros and sometimes that’s all that mattered. Lady Jynessa certainly didn’t seem to mind the hideous hole in his face.

If Alestra absolutely insisted on never seeing him again, then he needed a true wife. He glanced about the Queen’s Ballroom with a faintly interested eye. The maidens milling about were the fairest in the kingdoms, of that there was no doubt, as he had handpicked them personally. He was sure if he were to select one out of the bunch that Jon wouldn’t be too upset, other than his normal moody countenance.

It was painful for him to keep looking at them in such a way, however. It took a special woman to enjoy his presence without flinching at his nose or his height or various malformations. Despite his wit and riches, most women couldn’t overcome the sight. And not only that, it was painful to think of another in such a way. Alestra was still fresh on his mind, and to know that she was so close but so far away made it even worse.

He grabbed the nearest chalice and chugged. He planned on getting very drunk that night.

 

* * *

 

Margaery

 

She was one of the most beautiful women in the world, she knew. One of the smartest, richest, and most eligible as well.

However much these things were true, all of the men she had ever wanted had never wanted her back.

That seemed to include King Jon Targaryen.

All three of her weddings had been mummer’s farces, truth be told. In her 20 name days she had never been bedded, despite her attempts with Renly. She had known his feelings about Loras when they had wed, but it had been important for him to have an heir.

It all seemed so far in the past now.

Her grandmother, Lady Olenna, had plotted so much to have her be queen. Thrice a queen, thrice widowed. And now they wanted her to marry another king—a king that she could actually see herself loving for the first time in her life.

She felt flustered around him in a way that she had never experienced. She was practiced in charming men, but around him, she felt incapable and even insipid. The smiles and looks she sent his way seemed ill-received, and in turn, she felt discouraged and even mad at herself. Was the fluttery feeling in her belly causing her to act odd? Did he see her as a silly girl? What was it about herself that he did not seem to like? Was her nervousness so easy to tell?

Was it because she was to wed Ramsay Bolton? Surely he saw through that absurdity. Was it because he did not want to wed any woman? Word around King's Landing had been that the king had quarreled with his queen before their departure over the very subject.

Perhaps if she got to know him for his true self, not just the outer shell he exuded to his people, then she could exploit it and he could grow to like her and even ask her to wed him. It was the queen’s decree that he wed, so he had no option. He had to pick or Daenerys would. What better choice could he have than her?

Then she had seen the way he looked at his cousin, Sansa Stark, and felt an extreme bitterness that she had never before experienced.

Was it possible...?

Grandmother had assured her that whatever was going on between the king and Sansa was just cousinly—or even brother and sisterly love—nothing more. But grandmother’s eyes weren’t as sharp as they once were, and Margaery saw much more than she did.

And what she saw was much deeper than that.

The night of the feast in her honor had made that realization come to full fruition. She had seen the expression on Jon’s face as Sansa had stepped into the great hall, looking for all the world like an ice queen with her stunning gown, glowing face, and flaming auburn hair. The immediate anger she had wanted to feel had been quelled by the mere sight of the king’s expression, and instead replaced with something akin to jealousy and depression.

She had had some inklings about the two even before she had arrived solely from the interactions they had had in King's Landing. The way Jon protected Sansa was excessive in her opinion, and had made her think on more than one occasion that something was going on beneath the surface.

The entire evening she ended up feeling snubbed as King Jon had sat next to Lady Sansa, sharing their trenchers and speaking quietly. Several times he had earned charming laughter from the true Warden of the North. Only once had he spoken to her, asking her if the meal was to her liking. She had attempted to keep his attention with witty conversation, but she must have been a bore to him, for he turned immediately back to Sansa.

That night, lying in bed, she tried to devise ways in which she could gain his interest. She knew that he was an honorable man, so the thought of sneaking into his chambers and seducing him was out of the question. She needed to find out what he liked and see if she had any corresponding hobbies with him. Perhaps riding, or hawking?

She knew from his past that he had been named a bastard and had been a part of the Night’s Watch, so he had much in common with the smallfolk and their lives. Perhaps he would be interested in her charity work?

Maybe her clothing was not revealing enough? She had begun freezing the moment they had left their enormous armored carriage house, warm from the braziers placed inside. The clothing her grandmother had insisted upon had woefully ill-prepared her for the cold in the north, a cold she had never before experienced.

She had been grateful for the cloak the king had offered her. It had been longer than her height, but he told her that he didn’t mind if she ruined it as he had many others. He had suggested nicely that she have a new wardrobe prepared if she planned on staying long.

Which she planned to indeed.

Ramsay would be sending an envoy soon to collect her. As far as she knew the plans were for that envoy to bring back a false Margaery, giving Jon and the loyal northern lords a chance to garner more support and men. Even now there were masses of men gathering in the woods leagues from the castle, hidden from sight lest a rider on the wrong side should see.

She hoped Jon did not dislike a strong-minded and opinionated woman. She knew much about politics and even war strategy as it had become dear to her in the last few years. It had also been very important for her to know as queen, as she had wanted to be involved with ruling rather than just a mere decoration.

It was unfortunate that Cersei had denied so much of her knowledge.

She planned on asking the king consort if she could be involved with the councils that were held so that she could show him how much she knew. It was possible it would impress him, as he seemed to enjoy the queen and her knowledge and abilities.

That brought her back to the problem with Sansa. She wasn’t sure what the situation was, but it was obvious the king and his cousin were close. She would need to spend some time with her friend to see exactly what was going on before she made any rash decisions.

One thing was certain, however.

Sansa was her friend—but this was war.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dothraki:

_Mezhah -_ whore

_Ai -_ yes

_Zhey erinak -_ my lady

 

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	36. Chapter 36

**Author’s Note** : Hello everyone. Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. It has been a little rough with work and life and I haven’t had much of a chance to write. Good news though! My husband has finished his chemotherapy and will be getting scans at the end of February to see if the cancer is gone! My baby is now 6 months old and is massive! I hope to have some even better news for the next chapter :)

 

I have figured out the rest of the story and have decided with my beta Aiur that it’s looking like this will be a two-part story. There are parts of this story that just don’t fit here in _Roles and Raptures_ , and we have mutually decided that it would be better to explore that in a sequel. This is good news for most of you, although you don’t know why.

 

Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty Six

 

The Lost Queen

 

Never in her life had she felt so overjoyed.

Not when she was betrothed to Joffrey, not when he died, not when she killed Petyr, not when she beheaded those men.

But now she was.

She had never pushed a horse as hard as she did when those gates opened. The dapple grey mare reared when she sent her heels hard into her sides, and then she was off like the wind.

She had barreled down the road, fast and then faster, and then even faster still. She gave the mare her head and they hurtled down the dirt road. The men and women behind her fell back in moments. It was as if the mare could feel her exhilaration and wanted to prove her worth.

The freezing air tore at her face and clothes but she cared not. Tears were ripped from her eyes but still she did not care.

All that mattered was being _free._

She picked a random opening within the trees on the side of the road and the mare _flew_ , so far through the air that Sansa felt a moment of fear, but the mare’s legs remained strong on the landing and she dove into the wood.

Ancient sentinels whipped by her. Snow tugged at the legs of her horse, but her laughter and reckless abandon must have spurred her on, as she tried her hardest to push through the depths.

The North was known for its scenic wonders—gigantic trees, swift streams, crystal blue lakes, icy waterfalls. It did not take long for her to find a creek flowing fast with the beginnings of winter melt, and a waterfall with dripping icicles shortly thereafter. She reigned in her horse several feet away from the water’s edge and leapt into the pure, undisturbed whiteness around her.

She gasped with bliss at the sensation. Snow found its way up her thick skirts instantly, but the cold did not touch her. She loved it, she loved it all.

She felt like a Stark again.

Jon found her rolling around in the snow a few moments later. He laughed at the sight of her undoubtedly tousled hair and fat chunks of snow sticking to her clothing.

“Happy, are you?” he said, and she threw a snowball at him. It missed entirely.

What commenced was the most fun she ever had.

Jon jumped off his mount into the knee-deep depths, grabbing an entire armful of snow. He began packing it together, and Sansa shrieked when she realized his intention.

She dove behind a tree just as the huge ball was launched at her.

“Jon!”

His laughter filled the woods as he began reaching for more snow. She hurriedly did as well.

Soon the Unsullied and Manderly guards followed, along with a small entourage. Wynafryd and Wylla came barreling into the snow fight, jumping off their horses like true women from the north and joining Sansa’s side against Jon, who made an outraged sound at being ganged up on. 

Snow was flying through the air as another group joined from Highgarden. Sansa caught the sight of Lady Margaery forcing her mount through the snow, and the poor thing looked distraught. It was clearly a southern steed.

Margaery was accompanied by two other girls for whom Sansa had no name. She noted that all three ladies had warmer clothing on, something that must have come from the women of House Manderly. She also noted the hungry way in which Margaery watched Jon, and then Sansa threw back her head and laughed throatily as the king got pelted right in the face.

Apparently she had thrown the snowball harder than she thought, because he fell backwards into the snow. At Margaery’s gasp, Sansa turned and watched as the lady daintily stepped down from her horse and trudged through the snow, calling, “Your Grace! I am coming!”

Jon sat up and sputtered. Sansa, Wynafryd, and Wylla burst into giggles.

Jon growled.

The three girls squealed and lunged for a tree to hide behind as Jon began flinging hastily packed snowballs even faster than before. Lady Margaery had reached his side, and although initially undecided since he clearly needed no aid, she decided to join his side in the fight.

At first Margaery fell short of hitting anyone, but then realized her strength and got Sansa in the shoulder. She seemed to come into her own then, and Sansa realized that she was being directly targeted.

Her eyes narrowed.

The two other ladies joined Jon’s side, leaving their teams uneven and quite unfair, as Jon was clearly the strongest and most able. He toned down his attack after the other women joined, and Sansa could hear the laughter ringing out around her, bouncing off the trees around them.

Her clothes were soaked through and her arms burning with strain, but the few times she actually landed a snowball made it all worth it. She would never forget the look on Jon’s face when—

Colors exploded before her eyes. She didn’t feel herself fall, but she did hear herself cry out in distress. She caught several shouts and yells through her ringing ears and then felt hands upon her. But she could not see. She couldn’t tell if she was awake or dreaming.

“Sansa! Sansa, open your eyes!”

She moaned pitifully. Pain was blooming near her temple. She felt an odd wet sensation trickling down the side of her face, and gasped when she realized it wasn’t melted snow, but blood.

Her eyes flew open.

Jon’s countenance hovered so closely she felt her eyes cross. He let out a short burst of laughter at the sight, but it sounded more like relief than anything.

“Bring me something for her wound,” he called, and several Manderly men scurried away.

“Your Grace, is Lady Sansa harmed?”

Her vision blurred for a moment, but she still caught the dark look Jon threw over his shoulder. His pupils were so dilated his eyes looked black. She tried to focus on his eyes. His eyes were easy to concentrate on. “She _is_ harmed. She is bleeding and has been cut. I need to bring her back to the castle immediately.”

The ladies bustled in around them. Wynafryd and Wylla were the closest, sweetly cooing words of condolence. Their honeyed reasssurances irritated her for some reason. Behind them stood the ladies from the south, but only one person looked guilty out of anyone. Sansa caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and she instinctually looked in that direction. Pain flared.

Lady Margaery stepped forward just slightly, her face flushed with both the cold and embarrassment. “Your Grace, I think it was I who caused Lady Stark’s harm. I thought I felt something hard in the snowball I packed, but by the time I realized it, it was too late. I am sorry, Lady Stark.”

Jon’s harsh expression seemed to soften just the slightest bit, but the throbbing on her head was getting worse and she closed her eyes against the pain. He began pressing something against the side of her head, and she hissed at him. The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he quietly instructed her to hold the cloth against her head, and then she felt his arms gather underneath her. “It was an accident, Lady Margaery. Thank you, though. I will bring Lady Sansa back to the castle now.”

Sansa felt her stomach flip and her world whirl around as Jon picked her up. She groaned inwardly and fought the urge to be sick.

_I cannot let myself look weak in front of these people._

“Try to be still, Sansa. I need to get you to the maester.”

It was an agonizing struggle to put pressure against the wound. “Is... is it bad?” she asked, suddenly afraid that her face was ruined. It was vain of her, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. Her beauty was something that she had learned was a great strength to use against men over the years, and she could not suppress the fear that one of her few powers were gone.

“You face is untouched. It looks like the side of your head was hit with a sharp rock. Don’t speak now, Sa—Lady Sansa. You will only make yourself ill.”

She heard something in his voice. Not quite panic, but a kind of _strain_. His breath came in even pants as he made his way through the snow to the horses, and she squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as he somehow managed to make the ascent onto his horse with her in his arms.

She drifted in and out on the trip back to the castle. Every bump in the road sent a lance of discomfort through her head; even the swaying of the horse made her want to vomit. Jon held her close against his chest, trying to absorb most of the movement, but he couldn’t take all of it. She heard a keening noise, long and raw, and realized it was coming from her when Jon shushed her soothingly.

“Jon,” she gasped suddenly, sitting upright so fast she nearly unhorsed them both. Without word he set her off their mount.

She heaved up the contents of her stomach before her feet touched the snowy road. She felt it drip down her chin, knew it was getting on her gown, possibly in her hair. Behind her she heard a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like choking.

She was not graceful or ladylike in her retching. Her stomach contracted violently, and she was loud, violent. The thought of Jon seeing and hearing her throw up made her even sicker, but she thanked the old gods that Jon had left everyone behind in his urgency to get her to the maester.

She dry heaved twice more, and then groaned in misery as she prayed it was over. In probably the vilest of acts she had ever committed as a lady, she began trying to spit the taste out of her mouth, and then stood there, miserable, her head down in shame.

Jon’s voice filtered through. “Are you finished?”

Her head throbbed then, reminding her of the wound. The cloth that she had been holding against her head was gone, she knew not where. Gazing at the whiteness around her made her feel sick all over again, and she bit her lip, her hand reaching out to rest against the horse for stability. He whinnied, but did not move.

She heard a tearing noise then, and was handed another piece of cloth. Jon’s hands aided her own to her head, and she dared to open her eyes.

Concern filled his features. She felt immediate relief that he was not disgusted with her. Almost as if reading her thoughts, a faint smile touched his lips. His gloved finger rubbed away something near her mouth, and she felt mortified that he had just cleansed vomit from her face.

“I’m sorry, Sansa. I would have held your hair, but I would have just retched along with you. For whatever reason, seeing someone being sick just...”

In any other situation she would have thought his admission humorous. But now she was just trying to remain upright. Upon her return to the castle, she would not be allowed to be weak. If her plans were to come to fruition, then she had to be strong.

The rest of their journey was slower paced, and soon the Unsullied guards jogged up to them, followed by the rest of the entourage. Margaery was quiet, while the other girls murmured in discussion, about what, she had no idea. It hurt to concentrate with the constant pain stabbing her in the temple.

She tried to think of what happened, but everything started greying at the edges of her vision. The last thing she saw was Jon, staring ahead, his lips firmly pressed together.

 

* * *

 

Margaery

 

It had been a mistake to hit Sansa Stark with that snowball.

It had not been _entirely_ intentional—she had packed the snow into a ball, preparing to launch it at her rival for Jon’s affections, when she had felt the rock inside it. It had taken no hesitation to throw it. She honestly had figured it wouldn’t hit the fiery haired woman.

Margaery had to admit that Sansa’s stubbornness (and possibly deliberate calculation) about the situation had worked wonders. As soon as Sansa was brought to the castle maester and patched up, she insisted that she did not need bedrest. She strode from the sickroom herself, ignoring the pleas of the maester and king consort, walking by Margaery without a single glance.

And then the men had come flocking, like dogs chasing after a bitch in heat.

Margaery would have been impressed if she had not been so irritated by it. She enjoyed being the center of attention. Not only did she get plied with compliments and adoration, but she was able to keep her eye on potential antagonists. Grandmother always said that she should pay attention to everyone, even the servants. You never knew who you could glean information from.

Now Margaery was no longer the center of attention. Sansa Stark left the sickroom for the war room, and closed the door in her face.

“HAR! Mayhap she has some free folk blood in ‘er, you think? Took a blow to the head and walked it off! That’s my kind of woman!” a man named Tormund had bellowed, his hands over his belly as he threw back his head and laughed. He then chased after the Stark.

In the sennight since her arrival, she had noticed a change in the Sansa Stark she once knew. The quiet, sweet girl that Margaery had been able to manipulate and control no longer existed. It was as if Sansa had sloughed off the outer shell that had kept the she-wolf inside contained. Stories had spread during her travels in the Riverlands, speaking of how Sansa had delivered justice to several men who had once harmed her and the people of the Vale. It had even been whispered that Jon had lent his legendary sword to his cousin to aid her in loping off some heads.

Sansa’s changes more than likely were methodical. It was possibly even a façade, for Margaery couldn’t figure out how someone could go from being a frightened little girl to such a strong, dominating figure in just a matter of months.

What had changed?

Sansa was suddenly dangerous—ever since Margaery’s arrival, the simply dressed lady from that morn was no more. Sansa’s appearance at the formal dinner meant to celebrate _her_ arrival had been so overwhelming that all attention had been on Sansa... and it had remained that way ever since, leaving Margaery bereft. Sansa’s gowns, hair, and overall looks were on a different scale altogether. It was a bizarre (and fascinatingly lovely) combination of courtly and the North. Furs, leathers, and wools made up her gowns, but they were more revealing, more intricately cut than that of the other women at White Harbor. She often wore a belt that draped low across her hips, and at her side rested a dirk. Margaery had also been privy to a conversation in which Sansa had been showing Lady Maege Mormont the tiny dagger she kept up her sleeve—a gift from Jon and Daenerys when she had been residing in King's Landing. She even spoke of how she had once stabbed a man in the eye who had dared to touch her. Lady Maege had roared with laughter.

Sansa’s words and actions seemed premeditated now. Margaery watched the girl-turned-woman with morbid fascination, disbelief undoubtedly clouding her features as she observed the Stark dally with a group of potential suitors. Mikhos, a grandson of a man who was called The Flint, seemed especially appealing to Sansa. He was young and comely, potentially in line to inherit, and he was one of the few in Sansa’s age range and related to nobility that were not in some way disabled or maimed. Other men, both young and old, made it a point to ply the auburn haired woman with compliments and tales of bravery, and Sansa made sure every one of those men received the lightest of touches, a coy smile, or some other tactful glance that would certainly have most of them hard in their breeches.

It was something that Margaery herself did, when surrounded by suitors.

Tormund was ever at Lady Sansa’s side, his obnoxious laugh filling the halls of the great castle. Sansa seemed to enjoy his presence, but not in a way that suggested any interest involving marriage. Tormund hovered in such a manner that Margaery personally would have been irritated, but that Sansa seemed to enjoy. Perhaps the aging wildling was a breath of fresh air to her compared to the hovering boys. If Sansa wasn’t on the arm of Mikhos, she was on the arm of Tormund. Margaery honestly couldn’t figure out the point of Sansa entertaining Tormund’s thoughts of marriage until late one evening meal, when Margaery had seen Sansa in deep discussion with the white haired man. She had caught brief snippets of the conversation, and it had all related to the free folk in the New Gift.

A diplomatic maneuver. Sansa Stark was speaking to the man who was more or less a leader of his people, preparing for their integration into the North once Ramsay Bolton was dead. Perhaps her motivation for being with the man was not for marital reasons, but rather political ones. It made her laugh internally at the thought. Tormund was obviously infatuated with the younger woman and probably saw their discussions as something else entirely.

In the first few days after Margaery’s arrival, Sansa didn’t seem too involved in the meetings that the men seemed to adjourn to many times a day. She would attend one or two, leaving Margaery and the other females at the castle to their stitching circles. She would always come back looking cross, sit down next to either a Manderly or a Mormont girl (never one of her Southern companions) and angrily pull at the stitches in her hoop.

Then she left more often and kept away longer as each day passed. By the end of the seventh day of Margaery’s stay, Sansa was only present during meals and once or twice in between, making sure she was seen on the arm of some man or another.

The Northern girls also began to gravitate towards the Stark in a way that almost suggested a retinue or court. The moment Sansa was out of a meeting, a guard would inform the girls and they would practically run to be by Lady Stark. It mattered not to Sansa that the Manderly girls preferred finery and the Mormont girls preferred weapons. They both held appeal to Sansa it seemed. Even some of the minor houses had their daughters joining in, and it was never a surprise to see upwards of ten maidens following their lady around the castle, men not far from their heels.

Margaery realized quickly why such a thing was happening.

Sansa was preparing the girls for marriage and also arranging them.

It also did not escape her notice that Sansa was arranging the marriages in such a way as to get rid of the less... desirable candidates for her own hand.

All of this should have delighted Margaery, for King Jon was often alone. While he attended all meetings and sat at every meal, he was not always at Lady Sansa’s side. This left him open for opportunity.

Except Jon watched Sansa with such intensity that it only made Margaery’s hate for Sansa grow even darker.

More than once Jon had interrupted a conversation of some lord doting on Sansa, the lord’s hand resting a bit too low upon the curve of Sansa’s back. Margaery had personally witnessed King Jon remove said hand, before he tugged Sansa closer to himself, as if protecting her.

It ended up being a delightful accident when Margaery and her cousins were taking a stroll through the castle, hoping for entertainment. And entertainment they found.

Sansa was alone with the king consort in a dark alcove, something she would have missed entirely if it hadn’t been for the loud gasp Margaery heard before stumbling upon them. Margaery quickly shoved Megga and Alla behind her, out of sight but within hearing range. She thought the gasp something else, something perhaps scandalous, but it turned out to be an argument.

“How dare you. How could you say such a thing?” preceded the gasp. Jon’s answer was mumbled, but sounded apologetic.

“I am doing what I _can_ , Jon. Things are going to change when he is revealed. I have to get everything into sorts publically before it’s too late. I have to show that I can lead and be strong if they are to abide me as Regent. If I’m dispossessed, what will I do? I will have nowhere to go—”

“You will _always_ have somewhere to go.”

There was an audible sigh. “Jon—”

“I am also doing what I can, Sansa. There is a chance things can be different, that they can change...”

“You know it never works that way. Not for us. If I want to have a future, I have to take care of things my way.”

There was some rustling, and Margaery’s ears were at full attention. There were a few murmurs, possibly of consolation, before the pair left the niche and walked in the other direction, arm in arm.

_Regent? Things can change? Future?_

Her head whirled, and then she too gasped.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys

 

She could not remember his smell and she wanted to fall apart.

She longed for him so much that it often brought hot tears to her eyes, as she cupped the soft swell that was her belly.

As their child grew within her she felt a sadness that could not be described. She needed to have Jon by her side, but knew that it would not happen.

Their correspondence was frequent and full of words of yearning, desire, and sadness. When she received a raven from him she made everyone leave her presence so she could be alone with his words.

 

_I see you every time I close my eyes..._

_I hold you in my arms when I dream..._

_Sometimes I swear I can feel your lips upon mine right before I fully wake..._

It both killed her and made her ache for him to read those words. In return, she often said similar things.

 

_I sleep with my face upon your pillow, wishing I could still smell you..._

_I often wrap my arms around myself and imagine that they are yours..._

_My body burns with the knowledge of your touch... and it wants you so badly..._

Several of the women around her vying for her consort’s attention were devious and cunning, and often tried to find out what was being said between her and Jon. At first they would peek over her shoulder, or try to collect the tiny scrolls after she set them down, offering to dispose of them. Dany had learned to quickly have everyone leave after one particular instance, when one of the girls had opened one and began reading it aloud.

“King Jon is so sweet and romantic! Oh gods, imagine him saying those words to me? It would be so amazing...”

The disgust Dany had felt had been enough for her to banish the lady from the Keep, demanding that she not show her face at court for ten years and no less. She did not even know the girl’s name, and it had made her feel a small amount of wicked delight to send the girl fleeing in tears.

_He will say no such words to you, wench._

In the days between ravens she sought to distract herself. Her sickness and weakness was mostly gone, and she was still slight enough in the waist for her to wear normal gowns and not catch the eye from the attention-seekers of court. She made herself present in almost every activity in the castle, visited in the city and her people, and began making plans for changes.

The Dragonpit had started repairs shortly on her return to King's Landing from her ancestral home. It was much easier to work on the enormous structure without Drogon being there, for Viserion and Rhaegal could fly about and hang around the city without destroying it with their size. And while they were both a little trickier in their handling, they were relatively well-behaved and improved daily.

The pit was being expanded for Drogon’s overwhelming size. And with the eggs available for future hatching, it was very possible that there were going to be many more dragons in the future. It made her giddy with excitement, knowing that someday her heirs would be flying in the sky along with her. Children with dark hair and purple eyes were clear in her mind’s eye...

But there were times when she was alone and her thoughts haunted her. She imagined Jon next to her with such intensity that sometimes she wondered if he was actually there. She spoke to Missandei about it once and her little scribe had frowned.

“You do not need to be thinking such thoughts, Your Grace. You have a future prince or princess in your belly. Making yourself stressed or ill over King Jon will not bode well for the babe.”

Daenerys knew all too well about what could happen to her babe. Rhaego troubled her thoughts as well, worse than ever before, and sometimes she could see him in bed with her, hanging over Jon’s back and laughing, her husband’s and her child’s skin contrasting in the firelight.

It was enough to make her hysterical sometimes, the longing inside her so great that it wanted to consume her. She wanted... needed... to hold her child in her arms. She needed to know that she could create life, that she could continue their line and provide Jon with the family he deserved.

Despite the sickness and weariness she had experienced in the beginning, she had loved every single moment of being with child. The Grand Maester visited her thrice a day on her demand, morning, noon, and night, to check on her. She was constantly told to stop touching her belly in public, for she would reveal her state very easily if she were not careful. Tyrion was particularly vicious about it.

“If your hand strays upon your stomach one more time my dearest Queen, I shall have someone remove your hand with a sword. Do not put yourself at risk!”

She knew it could not be hidden much longer. Sooner or later her stomach would swell beyond the confines of her immaculately created dresses, and word would fly on dark wings to the castles of the North... and Jon would know.

The sorrow that he did not know weighed heavily upon her shoulders. She did not know how much longer she could keep it from him, but it was detrimental that she did not. If Jon found out she was pregnant, then she _knew_ he would stop looking for a bride. It was too important to her for him to marry again, so their line could pass on in case... in case the worst…

She knew that Lady Margaery had arrived North some time ago. If she was right, by now it would have been about a moon. Ravens had made their way to her now, telling her of the interactions between her consort and the lady, and they did not seem promising.

War, however, seemed inevitable.

Sansa seemed to be taking the North in stride. She loved to hear the tales of her strength and commanding presence. It seemed like her friend was taking everything in hand as she had hoped, and would soon be proving her worth in war and to the men that she needed behind her if she wanted to rule without strife.

Dany knew that they would soon be marching. There were a few Houses in the North that were steadfastly loyal to Ramsay, and it was on Sansa’s orders that they be culled.

Four days prior, a contingent of Lord Ramsay’s soldiers had arrived outside of the seaside town that housed the Manderly family, planning on acquiring Lady Margaery for her marriage to Ramsay. The men from Winterfell had numbered only two hundred, a slight to Lady Margaery, Jon had written, as her own personal guard was a thousand.

Jon had only been present in the garb of a Manderly soldier, for it was not known that he was in the North, watching closely.

Lady Margaery had been too valuable an asset to be handed over to the Winterfell men. Her distant relative Megga had instead taken her place, undoubtedly trembling with fear, as she was whisked away for her marriage. Olenna Tyrell had accompanied her as a chaperone and they had taken the entirety of the army.

Margaery apparently had been distraught since Megga’s departure, worried to death over her. Jon told Dany in his letter that he regretted what had been done, but that Megga had wanted to do it and had insisted upon it in a heated debate. Jon had spoken of how Margaery had clasped the dear girl to her so tightly that it had made him feel ill at the thought of what could happen if they were discovered.

With any luck their plan would be enough to get Ramsay off their trail and keep Margaery safe, while their men began marching north of White Harbor. The imposter Margaery was not set to be wed for two moons, as there was paperwork and a dowry to be delivered beforehand. All of this was to be overseen by the matriarch of the Tyrell family, and she was meant to be a proper distraction while the army made its way to Winterfell.

The final preparations and plans were being put into play as Dany laid there in Jon’s bed that night. The thousands of men that had been gathering for moons would leave the forests outside White Harbor, and begin yet another war.

Dany wished Jon would not be involved, but knew it would not happen. Jon was revered in the North, as a king and by some even as a god. She just privately feared what the fighting would do to him, after she had tried so hard to heal his heart and memories.

She thought then of Ghost, long gone. She wished that the mongrel would somehow find his way to his master and friend, but doubted that it would happen. Ghost had bolted off their ship the moment they had docked, and had not been seen since. In her letters to Jon, he had no explanation. The only thing either of them could think of was that Ghost was off gallivanting with the rest of the direwolves that had managed to find their way south of the Wall and now, the Neck.

_You were supposed to protect me. You are supposed to protect him. Where are you, Ghost? Please be safe._

She could only hope for wellbeing for him, and for the people she cared for so greatly that were heading into danger.

She curled onto her side, her arms wrapping around her middle and the tiny life that resided there.

_Come back to me, vorsa atthirari anni._

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : Sansa is growing in strength, ability, and power—Margaery knows something secret is going on—Dany is longing for her husband with a terrible intensity...what more could happen?

WAR!

Please review :)


	37. Chapter 37

**Author’s Note** : **GREAT NEWS!** My husband has **beat** cancer!!!!! He received the news only a week ago and I knew I had to update quickly so everyone could know. He will be getting scans several times a year for the next five years, and I can only hope that it stays gone. Thank you everyone who supported me with their kind words and thoughts during the last (almost!) year.

 

Thanks to Aiur, and congrats on your new arrival <3

 

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty Seven

 

Margaery

 

She bit her lip as she watched him.

She could have never imagined feeling an attraction to a man that was known throughout Westeros as a monster. She had heard stories, even from his men. Especially from Damon Dance-For-Me, who loved to tell her all kinds of tales.

Sometimes they made her shiver, but she wasn’t sure why she did.

Ramsay lounged in the lord’s chair, one that had sat the Kings of Winter and Lords of Winterfell for countless generations. He was picking his teeth with a sharp bone, one which he then tossed into the middle of the hall, where several mangy hounds yapped and fought over it. He laughed at the display.

She found herself watching him more and more. Lady Olenna often hissed at her, disgust in her voice.

“You’re a fool, girl. He is a vile creature. A creature born of rape, a lowly pathetic scrap of meat, abusive and sadistic. Not only is he a bastard, but he will be killed. He has no future. I know that Margaery taught you better than this,” Lady Olenna snipped at her on their way to Winterfell, shortly after she had met Ramsay Bolton for the first time. Surrounded by one thousand of their men, Lady Olenna had felt safe enough to discuss their situation to try to drill into her head that Ramsay was a twisted man.

“I will no longer call you Megga. Remember your name, Margaery. It will be of the utmost importance that you remember your name. If you hesitate to answer to it, it can destroy everything. We are in a dangerous situation. What we do here can determine our fates, and that of your cousin. We do our duty here, and I am sure that we will earn favor with Her Grace. She may be just what we need to pressure Jon Targaryen into wedding you-know-who. And perhaps even increase chances for you to wed someone of a desirable lineage. After that fiasco in King's Landing, it’s doubtful anyone would want you. This is your chance.”

Margaery remembered King's Landing with embarrassment, for she had been taken with Margaery and Elinor into custody with the High Sparrow for fornication charges. It was something that she had never done, but she knew that the rumors were still there. She had not received any marriage proposals since.

Their plans had begun falling apart however, shortly after they had left White Harbor. They had only traveled a few leagues when they were met with a band of men, Ramsay Bolton at the head. They had expected to meet him at Winterfell.

He wasn’t handsome, but that didn’t matter to her. He had seen her first, when she had been stepping down from their armored carriage in the best of Highgarden’s finery. She had felt her heart beat faster when she had caught his gaze. His lids hooded, his lips wet, he had kissed her hand slowly and deliberately, in a way no man ever had. She had been staring at him, her mouth undoubtedly agape, when Lady Olenna had cleared her throat.

“Lady Margaery is not your bride yet, Lord Bolton.”

The wicked smirk on his face had thrilled her and made her toes curl. It was as if that smirk held secrets untold, secrets she longed to know. She wanted to become a woman; she wanted to know what it was like to be with a man. It was as if Ramsay was undressing her with his eyes, and it did something to her.

So she watched him.

She watched and waited, hoping that maybe he would take her aside, perhaps into a little alcove that abounded in Winterfell... and kiss her.

Or more.

It happened one day, when she was least expecting it. She had just dismissed her guards after a jaunt in the godswood, as her chamber was just around the corner. He had caught her in his grasp and pulled her behind an ancient wool tapestry.

“I see you watching me,” he said, his eyes glinting in the low light. She had nodded nervously, swallowing.

Then he had kissed her, hard.

His touch ignited something inside her. She had never felt wanted by a man before. There had always been careful flirting, giggling, and looking, but nothing like this.

She thought of the plans to kill the man pressing his lips down her throat and his warm hands grasping at her small breasts through her gown, and felt anger consume her.

She let him take her maidenhead right then and there.

She kept mum during any secret meetings involving Lady Olenna and the men-at-arms in their company. She resented them all for what they planned to do to Ramsay.

The days went by and every night she let him take her, again and again. She thought of ways she could save his life, and could think of none but outright telling him.

“I love you, Lady Margaery.”

She closed her eyes. “It’s Megga, my lord. My name is not Margaery.”

His eyes shone in such a way that it made her gut clench. “I know,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I know.”

She had no idea what that confession would cost her.

 

* * *

 

Jon

 

He was awoken from a pleasant dream with a nearly painful twinge, startling awake.

The imagery of his wife Daenerys lying next to him, sleepy and naked quickly drifted away as he felt tendrils of emotion and thoughts that could only come from one thing.

_Ghost._

Panic instantly seized in his chest, as he had not felt his friend’s presence in his mind for a long time, and even when he’d been in the Vale, it had only been soft glancing touches of their minds, brief exchanges that had mostly let him know his direwolf was safe.

This had been a short burst of intense excitement, so overwhelming to his slumbering brain that it had been a shock.

He tried to reach back out to Ghost, hoping that they could connect once more, his heart fit to burst with longing. Feeling him like that made him realize what he was missing, for Ghost had been so far from his thoughts with all of the other worries floating through his head constantly. His days were long and mentally draining, and both thankfully and sadly enough, Ghost was the furthest thing from his mind.

He strained, trying to fling his consciousness out the furthest it had ever been, but he felt nothing. Instead he ended up touching the mind of Drogon, who was flying further north, high up in the clouds.

He opened his eyes, drawing in a long, defeated breath. He felt Drogon’s acknowledgement of his presence, a burning sensation that made him clasp his nose in pain, feelings of hunger and then nothing as the magical beast closed him off entirely. Drogon didn’t particularly like him inside her head, but allowed him to when the need arose. Jon respected that. It hurt too much to interact with her much as it was.

He sat up in bed and sucked in another lungful of air, letting it out very slowly.

It was going to be a long day.

They were preparing to march on the morrow, and all of the preparations were being finalized. Even now he could see the first tendrils of light reaching upwards into the sky, vivid scarlet and pink and amethyst, the final hue almost the color of his wife’s eyes... a stark reminder of how he desperately missed her.

He readied himself quickly, wanting to begin as soon as possible. There would be several council meetings, meals, speeches, and travels throughout the daylight hours, and dallying would only make things harder.

Just before he strode from the room, the sight of several tiny scrolls neatly tucked away caught his eye. He stopped, fighting with himself and the urge to return to them and read them over and over again.

 

_Jon, I miss you._

It stung in a way he couldn’t describe or even understand. It brought back memories of another time, another woman. The emotions were all too familiar, and they frightened him.

 

_We all miss you._

His breath came quicker as he stared at the pieces of parchment, so far and yet so close. All it would take was a few steps and he could unroll one, and let her words sweep over him.

 

_But none more so than me._

He fisted his hands so tightly he could feel the bite of his nails through the soft leather of his gloves. The previous night he had read her words until his eyes had burned, dozens of tiny scraps of parchment that she had sent him over the months. Her longing and need for him only seemed to increase as the weeks went by, along with the frequency in which she sent them. There had been times he had received a raven thrice in one week; those were the days that he hated the most, for he could see the stains of her tears upon those notes.

He had written to her last night, as he always did, his hand cramping as he tried to fit all the diminutive words onto the small scroll.

 

_Almost, Daenerys. Almost. We are drawing to a close in our campaign here. No more than a moon and I shall return to you. I know it._

_I shall hold you tightly, and you shall not leave my side again for a very, very long time._

 

His body burned with the urge to remain, but his mind won the battle. The longer he dawdled, the later he would be to return to his table, where he could write her and read her messages that might have arrived that day.

It didn’t take him but a moment of stepping into the Great Hall for the entire day to be ruined.

 A neatly woven basket sat on the high table, a suspicious dark liquid leaking from the inside. Fear struck him then as he watched the people gathered around, and realized that they were waiting for him to open the gruesome object.

The Lord of White Harbor nearly shoved him forward, and he caught the eyes of Sansa as he looked behind the jowly man. Behind her stood Lady Margaery, whose face was ashen.

Blood dribbled from the basket onto the table, where it then flowed into cracks and dripped down onto the cold stone floor.

 “Please,” Lady Margaery said, visibly shaking. “Please, let me know who it is. I must know. I must see.”

The scream that resonated through the hall made him flinch with terrible memories. The sounds of women crying as they discovered their husbands were dead, or their children were killed before their eyes.

Lady Olenna’s own eyes stared back at him, filmed over with thick, deathly white.

 

* * *

 

The Lost Queen

 

The castle was quiet. Eerily so.

It had been a day since Olenna Tyrell’s head was revealed, and that meant that Ramsay Bolton knew of their plans to capture Winterfell.

Her life, and the life of her brother, were at risk now more so than ever.

Jon announced that Rickon lived shortly after everyone had calmed. A quick and efficient meeting of the lords and ladies had revealed the pressing need to march _now_ , and that meant that their plans to reveal Rickon at a precisely calculated time were pointless.

She had stood by her brother with her back ramrod straight and her chin held high, trying harder than ever not to let the tears slip down her cheeks.

She heard the words of the people around her.

_He’s just a boy!_

_He can’t lead us!_

_Well, a girl can’t lead us either!_

She had stepped forward, sure in her words. She had felt Jon’s presence behind her and had taken strength in that.

“Rickon Stark is the only known living male heir of your king, Robb Stark. The man that you fought for. The man that the North _bled_ for. Rickon is young, yes. But he knows what the North has gone through. He has gone through it himself. He is not so young that he cannot remember the suffering that he went through when Winterfell was captured. Rickon, just like me, knows that the North needs to be mended. I will be by his side as his Regent, and I will always have the aid of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. The North will be in firm, strong hands, lords and ladies. There shall be no worries now, or ever. Both of us would give our lives for our people. Never forget that.”

There had been no cheers, but the frowns had faded. Sansa had nodded and followed little Rickon, where they were brought to a room heavily guarded by Unsullied.

It was there that they sat until the next day, when the army left White Harbor.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys

 

“Alestra’s skin was pale this evening.”

Dany wanted to soothe Tyrion, but knew that he just needed to speak. Alestra was from Meereen and her skin was normally a soft, luscious brown. “I honestly couldn’t believe she let me see her. She did not let me touch her, however much I longed to. I wanted to weep at the sight of her, truth be told. She was beautiful. Beautiful, Daenerys.”

Alestra was due at any time according to the maesters. Dany had even sent the Grand Maester to visit her and he had said the same. It could be today, it could be a sennight. It was just a waiting game.

“I think I will go have a drink. Your Grace, thank you once again for allowing the Grand Maester to visit my once-wife. I will keep you updated.”

Dany smiled sadly at her friend as he bowed and left, his awkward gait slower and more uneven than usual. It was obvious he was miserable. Alestra had forbid him to be present during the birth, but had said she would call to Dany when she was sure labor was underway. She personally hoped to calm the passionate Meereenese woman over the situation, especially as she was preparing to birth the child of the man she had once claimed to love. Maybe holding Tyrion’s child would be just what she needed to realize how foolish she was being.

She curled her hand over her own small belly, feeling the tiny flutters of life within her.

It had happened for the first time just the night before. She had been lying in Jon’s bed, her face pressed into his pillow, her eyes closed as she fought her mind. Her lack of rest was an ever-pressing matter to the Grand Maester of late, but Dany just could not help it. She would lay awake for hours, despondent and thinking of her husband in the North, marching to war, and then thoughts of her child dying or her miscarrying were ever prevalent.

Then she had felt it. Gasping, she had taken her hands and cupped her belly, closing her eyes as tears escaped their prison.

_Rhaego. I once felt you the same way. Let your brother or sister live. Protect them. Be with them in spirit. I know you are near, my sweet boy._

She had gotten up to write to Jon then, both overjoyed and filled with fear.

 

_I write to you now, late at night, for it is almost as if I can feel you inside me. You are with me, Jon._

She wrote small messages to him like that several times a week. She knew that it did not bother him. He had told her that at night, when he returned to his chambers and found the notes that the castle maester had left for him, it felt as if all the day’s worries just left him. He slept better after reading her words and was able to awake the next day and go on, knowing she was waiting for him in King's Landing.

 

_It comforts me to know that I am with you,_ aqqisat oakah anni _._

 

She always slept better after writing to him.

She stood then, her hands reaching to the silken straps on her shoulders. She lifted them and let them fall down her arms. The wispy gown drifted down her body until it pooled at her feet. She looked to an Unsullied stationed in one of the corners of her room and ordered him to bring her handmaidens.

Three of her several Dothraki handmaidens arrived quickly. Upon seeing her state of undress they began preparing her a bath. They poured oils and goat’s milk into her steaming water, burned incense to make the air fragrant. They washed her hair and stroked her skin. Afterwards they dried her and plied her flesh with creams and scented oil. She was draped in flowing silk and her hair was brushed until it shone.

It was a daily routine before bed, something that had once comforted her and helped her relive memories of a less difficult time. Instead now she slept in an empty bed, with her husband so far away that she could not comprehend the distance. Months on foot...weeks on horseback...days on the back of a dragon...

Her eyes fluttered closed and she dreamt of Jon riding Drogon, his face filled with panic and trails of tears flying into the wind.

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note** : The story is nearing the end! I estimate less than ten chapters. Let me know what you think!


	38. Chapter 38

**Author’s Note** : Sorry for the really late chapter, everyone! My beta had his first child and I was trying to wait for him to get to the (several!) chapters I have written, but alas, he is probably busy with baby poop and sleepless nights! Please forgive any mistakes, but let me know if you notice anything.

 

**This chapter is long and intense with a pretty devastating cliff hanger. Several things will be revealed that may be upsetting, but necessary to the movement of the story. Most of the remaining chapters will be a rollercoaster ride. Hang on tight!**

 

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty Eight

 

The Lost Queen

 

Marching to battle was something she never thought she would do.

She was raised so carefully; her mother had done her best to turn her into a lady, a girl that would blossom into a woman that would rule the castle of some great lord. She had always excelled in all the womanly arts _and_ was beautiful—everyone had known that she would be a lady of a magnificent keep or maybe even a queen.

No one had ever taught her anything about the things in life that she would go through once leaving the protection of Winterfell. She had fallen woefully short on politics and deception and lying. She had had no idea on the intrigues of court life or the people she might encounter. She had experienced the cruelty that the world was capable of so soon in her youth...and was doused in abuse, suffering, and rape for far too long. Even through all of that—escaping, killing Petyr and Morella, aborting her pregnancy, being captured and nearly raped, flying a dragon, beheading multiple men in connection with Petyr and his crimes, losing her position as Lady Stark, and Jon—

None of that had prepared her for war.

Jon had promised that everything she would go through would help her become stronger, and she had to agree. But there were some things you could never be prepared for, no matter how much you experienced, were taught, or showed.

The snow had been beating down on them for two days, leaving visibility poor. The miles ahead of them were long and arduous, but she had someone that stuck by her side through it all.

She peered through the furiously dancing flurries at Jon, who was buried under furs and the snow piling up on them, and felt her lips tip upwards. Whether or not he was aware of it, he lent her strength beyond measure, to keep moving forward despite her inner voice whispering to her to give up or that she couldn’t do it. Even though there was a massive spring snow blasting around them, she felt warm knowing that he was next to her.

It made her fear the future all the more, and her plans involving that future.

She had been preparing for some time to tell Jon that she loved him. More than a brother, who he never was, and more than a cousin, which didn’t bother her in the least. Starks had wed cousins many times in the past, and relations even closer than cousins. His bloodline mattered not.

What mattered was what he meant to her. His protection of her, his caring, his...just everything. His warm eyes, grey and kind, always gazing at her in such a way that she never felt afraid. His hands, calloused and strong, always trying to guide her and keep her close so he knew she was secure. He was her safe harbor...and the only person she could see being with for the rest of her days.

The problem was that she didn’t think Jon saw her in such a way. She knew he had the need to protect her on an obsessive level, had even tried protecting her so vehemently that it had harmed her emotionally. He expressed how much he cared for her all the time, but he had never stepped over any boundaries. He was, as always, a gentleman to her, honorable to a fault, never even looking at her in such a way that would make her question his intentions.

She had tried to tempt his manly mind on several occasions, but she had only really ever seen one or two things that would make her wonder what he was really thinking. Nothing that was obvious, such as desire, or even love on a level that wasn’t familial.

Her experience with honorable men was far and few between. And while she knew that Jon wasn’t perfect, as his past dictated, she knew that he did his best to keep that in the past and be a good man.

She needed him to _not_ be that good man.

Daenerys wanted Jon to marry another woman. She knew that the queen was desperate for heirs because she was barren, and had overheard the two arguing that Jon could marry a whore for all she cared, as long as he married someone. Of course she wasn’t serious (Sansa hoped), but to her that meant that Jon’s options were broad, and he could choose who he preferred, rather than be forced to marry someone he didn’t want, such as Margaery Tyrell.

Sansa looked ahead into the whiteness around her as she heard a horn call to halt. The snowfall had lightened and they were under the protective cover of ancient sentinels and oaks, where the snow wasn’t as deep. Jon helped her dismount and ordered the Unsullied guards around them to pitch her tent immediately.

Her tent, which sat next to his.

She bit her lip, wondering so many thoughts, but could only shake her head.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t betray his trust or his love. There would be no trickery or seduction, both of which Petyr had trained her well in. Jon’s disarming smile and his gentle touch to her gloved hand only made her decision more solidified. He said he would return shortly and to stay close, and then was gone, off to help the men in their army get warm.

She loved him, too much to hurt him. Whatever happened, it would be face to face, in an honest discussion, rather than manipulation or deception. Time was ticking away, things were happening way too fast, and her hopes of making Jon hers was dwindling with each passing day. She had to do it, and soon.

Maybe even today.

Carts were beginning to be unloaded, and Sansa commenced the search for firewood. It was one less thing that the men would have to do for her and she liked helping. It wouldn’t do for her to stand around doing nothing while the men worked hard for her and Rickon.

She barely took two steps out of range and an Unsullied was following her. His dark skin was buried under grey fur and his spear was in his hand. He said nothing but nodded at her when she noticed him.

She wandered around aimlessly, picking up pieces of wood that didn’t look too wet.  The snow was falling gently now and she thanked the old gods. It made life harder on everyone when it was heavy.

She looked up when she caught a sudden flash of green. She nearly gasped aloud from shock but managed to keep her composure calm.

It took but a moment for hatred to burn deeply then.

Lady Margaery smiled. It wasn’t nice. Sansa stared at the older woman, her eyes like ice.

“Did you see that King Jon ordered my tent to be placed next to his? Such an honor,” Margaery said, obviously noticing then that Sansa had her arms full of wood and began making herself look busy. Sansa felt a moment of self-amusement.

She continued her busy work until she could no longer carry anymore. Margaery kept looking up and smiling at her, and Sansa’s irritation grew. The nerve of the woman was so unreal, it took everything in her not to accidentally throw her knife at her throat.

Shortly after Lady Olenna’s head had been revealed, Lady Margaery had found herself alone with Jon, overcome with sorrow and needing comfort. Jon had been in his chambers, packing his things for the march when Lady Margaery had barged in, sobbing and throwing herself at him. Jon had been forced to hold her as she wept, and it hadn’t taken long for Margaery to ply him with her womanly wiles, telling him how hard she had worked to come to the north, all for him, everything had been for him. She cared greatly for him and she had just lost the one person in the world that had meant everything to her, and now she had no one.

No one but him.

Jon had always been awkward around women, especially when younger. He had always thought of himself as a bastard, and it had carried into his adult years as well.

Margaery had attempted to kiss him but Jon had backed up until he had hit his desk, causing the chair to crash to the stone floor. The noise had alerted the guards patrolling down the hall, and Jon had escaped.

To Sansa’s chambers.

Sansa gave Margaery’s back a smug smile and began walking back to camp. What the Maid of Highgarden didn’t know was that Jon had told her everything and had begged her to help him.

“Lady Margaery no longer has her grandmother to keep her at heel. She’s destroyed by what happened, I know that, but Sansa, I don’t _like_ her. I’d rather marry an old crone if I really have to do this.”

Sansa’s solution had been simple. One of the best ways she could think of to cool Margaery’s ardor had been wicked, but if played properly, would work.

“Tell her that you know how difficult this time must be. Let her know that you have been waiting for the appropriate time to speak to Lady Olenna, but the war preparations had gotten in the way.”

Jon had looked at her sideways, concern etched upon his features. In the candlelight, she could clearly see the faded scars upon his skin. His other scars, scars she had seen, she promised to herself Margaery would never see.

“Tell her that you want to initiate a courtship—”

“—No! What the—”

Sansa had laughed outright. “Listen, silly man. Tell her you are willing to court her and see if you are compatible. _With_ a chaperone.”

Jon had blinked several times. He had been thinking quickly, and his pacing had begun. “She wouldn’t be allowed to be with me alone then. She wouldn’t be able to accost me.”

Sansa had been highly amused by the whole thing, at how distraught Jon had been at the attention of an aggressive woman. She feared what he would find in King's Landing once he returned.

“Just make sure that you tastefully break off the arrangement at the appropriate time. Perhaps before you leave for King's Landing,” Sansa had said, squeezing his arm gently. The grateful hug he had given her had been warm and caring.

“Thank you, Sansa. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

_Nor do I._

That had been two days ago, the afternoon before they had begun the march. Since then, Margaery had been near Jon, but not alone with him. The chaperone appointed to Margaery was a thin lipped, pepper-haired woman in her forty-fifth year, a mother of eight who had lost her husband and all her children in the wars. Her name was Rachael, and she was as hard as a woman could be, and at a word from Sansa, knew that Margaery was _not_ to be alone with Jon, _ever._

In fact, it made Sansa chuckle to see Rachael standing just at the edge of the camp, waiting for Lady Margaery to return. Rachael’s eyes were sharp and narrowed at the sight of Margaery trailing some distance behind Sansa, and her soft voice was sudden.

“I trust Lady Margaery was on her best behavior, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile kindly. She felt terrible for the woman’s loss, and she honestly believed that having something to do with her life after everything that had happened had given her new purpose.  She seemed to enjoy her position.

“Lady Margaery was the epitome of helpfulness, Rachael. Thank you for making sure she was where she needed to be.”

Sansa wasn’t sure if Lady Margaery knew that Rachael was in her pocket, but even so, she more than likely didn’t think it mattered since she was able to be near Jon. Her haughty behavior once Jon had announced they would commence a courtship was one thing Sansa couldn’t stand. Rachael reported everything to her, so Sansa always knew what was going on. Margaery had met with Jon in the evening of the two days they had been marching to spend an hour with him. Rachael had told Sansa of Margaery’s obvious frustration at the supervision and how she found every opportunity to touch the king consort. Sansa had laughed outright when Rachael had told her how she always cleverly interrupted Lady Margaery’s advances.

Margaery veered away towards her tent, which was in the process of being pitched. Her pitiful handful of twigs was tossed aside without care, and she stood waiting with her arms buried under her cloak. Sansa felt her eyes, but she ignored them.

“Lady Sansa, I will take those.”

Her Unsullied guard opened his arms to her branches and she handed her armful to him. “Thank you,” she said, and followed him into her tent.

Shortly after she had her tent arranged, Rickon entered with six Unsullied guards. He huffed in annoyance under his mountain of furs, and Sansa smiled affectionately as she helped him divest himself of his lordly cloak.

The Unsullied departed and Sansa knew they were standing guard around her tent. She and Rickon had more protection than the king, who found himself annoyed being followed around by more than two.

“Hungry?” Sansa asked, settling her brother into a chair at a small table. He nodded, his face slightly pouty.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting in front of him. Rickon was still so young and inexperienced, and his time in the wilderness and with the wildlings had put him behind other noble children his age. Sansa hoped with time that she would be able to teach him what he needed to know from her own experiences, but without spoiling his childlike nature too soon.

“They won’t unchain Shaggy. He’s not happy. He told me that.”

Rickon didn’t hide that he had a connection with Shaggy that transcended a normal bond of human and master. It terrified Sansa, as she knew what he spoke of from small experiences of her own. Between Ghost and Drogon, and faint memories of Lady and dreams that she’d had over the years, she knew what he spoke of. She also had suspicions of Jon having the same connection with Drogon and Ghost, but she had never asked.

“Rickon...Shaggy is a bit too rough for some people. Once we know that he can be trusted then we will release him. And please...only speak of these things with me and Jon. We don’t know who can be trusted, my love.”

His little face scrunched up in annoyance. “I don’t care! He will be good, I promise! All I have to do is tell him. I’ll show you, Sansa. Just let him go!”

She tilted her head to the side and gave him a sad smile. She reached for his hand, which was fisted on the table. “Fine. Tonight, after dinner, I promise that I will come with you to let Shaggy have a bit of a run. We will let him have a little more freedom every day, until he can prove himself.”

He slouched in his chair. “But—”

She shook her head at him, feeling like their lady mother. “Rickon, listen. If it weren’t for me, no one would release him. He would remain caged and chained until the end of his days. I am doing my best here, sweetling. If you can show me that he can handle freedom, I will let him run to his heart’s content.”

His lip curled in disgust. His mood was completely sour at this point, but Sansa knew that she had to be kind and gentle with him or he would more than likely throw a full blown fit.

“For being Lord Stark I certainly can’t do whatever I want.”

And then he showed moments of pure intelligence, which just stunned her and made her laugh, which she did now.

“Soon, Rickon, I promise. Just for now, let me help you,” she said, running her fingers through his overlong hair. His blue eyes peered up at her, and she wanted to just hold him and protect him forever.

“Osha would have let me do whatever I wanted, even if I was going to die.”

She sat back and looked at him. Osha was a topic that had been brought up many times over the weeks. He spoke of her as if she were his mother, as if she was his solution for everything. The woman had been left behind with an injury on Skagos when Ser Davos had come for Rickon, and the boy hadn’t seen her since.

He never hesitated to tell Sansa that he missed her and wanted to go back.

“Well Osha isn’t here, Rickon. Perhaps once we get Winterfell back then we can send for her. She can be by your side again.”

She noticed the faraway look in his eyes and wondered at it. He would often bottle up and refuse to talk, or sometimes even scream nonsense in another language. It was frustrating, but he was getting better.

“I am going to go see how our evening meal is faring. I will be back shortly.”

As soon as she left the tent, two guards went inside. Rickon hated it, but neither she nor Jon could risk his life as the last male heir of Eddard Stark.

The camp was bustling in the lightly falling snow and early evening. Men nodded and bowed to her out of respect and she smiled and nodded in return. Nervousness crept up her spine as she made her destination of the chow line, seeing that the food was being prepared in giant pots over fires. She spoke to one of the cooks and tried to keep herself from twisting her gloved hands together as she knew where she would be heading next.

She thanked the cooks for their time and began aimlessly wandering between muddy lanes. She knew she was purposefully avoiding where she needed to go, but she needed to try to pull her thoughts together before she actually went there.

She thought of Margaery hanging on Jon’s arm and knew that Margaery was very close to getting her wish of being with the king. If Margaery pulled the proper strings, she could compromise herself and Jon and it would be demanded that he marry her. It was even a possibility that Jon would come to like her. He had spent very little time with Margaery, but the woman was beautiful, intelligent, conniving, _and_ had been a good queen. She had many qualities that men would die for, and Sansa feared what would happen if she waited any longer to talk to Jon.

She tried to put together in her head what she would say but it all seemed so jumbled and immature. Professing her love for a man was something she had never done, and in the stories she had loved as a child, the man had always done the professing. How could she sound serious without making Jon ill that she adored him?

_Jon, I need to speak with you. There is something you should know, something that I have been hiding from you for some time. Something that even I was hiding from myself for the longest. I never thought that something like this could happen, but I need you to know—_

“Lady Sansa? What are you doing out here?”

She spun to see the subject of her thoughts. Snow was nestled in his hair and his cheeks were flushed from the cold and hard work. Her stomach dropped with fear and indecision and she wanted to vomit right then and there.

_Will I ruin what we have because of my selfishness?_

“Y-Your Grace. I apologize. I was...I was taking a walk to clear my mind,” she said nervously, her hands unknowingly twisting in that way of hers. She saw his eyes drawn to the motion and she stopped, but it was too late and concern immediately colored his face. She could see how he withheld himself from her in public; his formality with her around other people was always something she had enjoyed, as it was almost as if they were two different people. For when they were alone, or with others they trusted, he was always near, always so caring, and he could say her name without fear of impropriety.

“ _Sansa,”_ he said, very quietly, and she realized that he had spoken and she hadn’t heard him. She blinked, her lips parting with the words on the tip of her tongue, but she just couldn’t say them.

_I need to speak with you, Jon._

“I...I’m sorry, Your Grace. What did you say?” She knew she sounded like a fool. She glanced around to see that there were a few prying eyes, men sitting outside their tents with their fires, cleaning their armor or just bringing back bowls of gruel.

“I asked if you would care to join me for dinner?”

_No! Oh gods, I can’t. I just can’t._

The words that came out of her mouth were completely different, however.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

 

* * *

 

Daenerys

 

It was growing late but she was not tired.

Deep inside the Red Keep, in Maegor’s Holdfast, she could see the stars dusting the night sky. The city was quiet this evening, and she was grateful. The wind blew the stench away, and her children were happy.

She watched Rhaegal and Viserion flying, taking occasional dips into the ocean to grab a fish before letting out a shot of fire and roasting it alive. She could feel their contentment, their enjoyment of flight and life. She longed to be out there with them, but did not want to call them to her and disturb their play.

Her hand dipped to her belly and she felt her lip tremble. The swell was growing so fast...soon all would be able to see what she tried so hard to hide. Already there were whispers on her change of appearance and her clothing, and she worried constantly that someone would try to take her baby away.

_No one shall hurt you. I have the best protection in the world. I love you so, little one._

She heard a small rustle behind her and knew that Ser Barristan was standing guard behind her, giving her privacy as always, but also close enough that he could be there in an instant if she needed him.

Viserion screeched, drawing her attention back to her dragons. They had angered each other and were fighting over some morsel. Seeing them like that, it made her long for her other child, Drogon, so far in the north. Sometimes she could swear that she saw snow covered mountains, but she figured that they were just waking dreams, or her mind just being fanciful.

She had just written Jon the previous day about Drogon, telling him how much she missed her. Drogon had saved her life, had protected her and cared for her on so many occasions, it saddened her to know that she was so far away. It comforted her, however, that she was with Jon. Drogon loved him, would do anything for him, and that was something that held her together when her loneliness was at its greatest.

The trembling of her lip began again and she clenched the railing of the balcony.

The Grand Maester had told her that she was not eating enough for the babe. He told her that he knew King Jon was the reason, and that she was slipping into a deep depression because of him. She could hurt her child.

“Your Grace, if I may, I believe that it would be beneficial for you to inform His Grace that you are with child. Withholding this information from him is hurting you both mentally and physically. Perhaps...perhaps it would be best.”

She had hated the old man then. Hated everyone because no one understood her duty. Her duty to the Targaryen line, her duty to the realm and to the people that she had to protect. She had thought for so long that she was the last dragon, but no, she hadn’t been. Jon and she were together, and they could make the Targaryen line thrive and be bountiful once more, if only she could keep this secret long enough.

That was when she had written Jon the letter.

_You will return from the north with a bride, Jon, or do not bother returning at all._

She’d been nearly hysterical after watching the raven fly from the tower, had seen the disapproving looks on Tyrion and Missandei’s faces. She had held it together long enough to return to her chambers and flood her husband’s pillow with her tears.

_As soon as he weds I can tell him. I can tell him I am with child and that he will be a father._

“Your Grace.”

She turned to the voice of Ser Barristan, who nodded towards Tyrion. All of the blood was drained from her Hand’s face. She immediately left the balustrade to go to his side.

“Lady Alestra has requested your presence, Your Grace.” He swallowed thickly and accepted her hands when she reached for him. “She says the babe is on his way.”

She squeezed his damp fingers tightly. “All will be fine, Tyrion. I will go to her. I will talk to her about...what we discussed. I will make us a family again.”

Tyrion had begged her to speak to Alestra to see if she would return to him. She felt so sad for him, for she knew how much he loved the Meereenese beauty. He nodded to her, and she walked into her chamber, followed by Ser Barristan.

“I will alert the guards that you will be leaving immediately, Your Grace,” he said, bowing to her before he left. She grabbed a cloak and placed slippers upon her bare feet and headed towards the stables.

It was still early enough that the castle had stirrings of activity. Men and women alike acknowledged her as she rushed by, surrounded by ten Unsullied, Ser Barristan, and Lord Tyrion. A manservant ran ahead to have the stable hands prepare her silver.

Tyrion waved to her sadly as she mounted her silver. “I will make sure she has the best care, Tyrion. Please alert the Grand Maester if you already haven’t.”

And then she was on her way, trotting down the cobblestone lanes to the small house she knew Alestra had lived in when she had once been Tyrion’s mistress.

Lannister guards were stationed outside of the small but richly decorated house that had been home to many a Hand’s mistress. They bowed to her as she dismounted and entered the residence. Inside the air was warm and filled with sweet incense, something that she remembered vividly from her time in Meereen. She couldn’t specifically say if it made her miss the place, however.

Two midwives hovered in a small room, preparing cloths and clean water. Dany gazed at a red door from which she heard a small cry, and the women looked at her as if they didn’t know who she was. She realized then that they had the same skin tone as Alestra, and spoke to them in Valyrian.

“Is your lady within?”

They nodded and motioned to the door. “No men,” the oldest woman said, her face stern when she gazed upon the various guards behind her.

Dany looked to Ser Barristan who shook his head, understanding the woman’s meaning without understanding her tongue. “Her Grace is to be with protection at all times. Under no circumstances—”

“No men,” the woman said again, this time in the Westerosi tongue.

Dany could see the anger building on the aging man’s face and sought to calm him. She placed her hand upon his armored limb and spoke to him quietly. “It is not common for men to be present in a birthing room, Ser. I will only be in that room and nowhere else. You can stay posted outside the door and I will alert you to any issues with a call.”

Another small cry came from the room and Dany gave her guardian her best pleading eyes. She knew there would be a limited timeframe in which Alestra would be coherent and able to talk, and she needed to get her point across quickly just in case she was near that stage.

Ser Barristan’s face was set in stone. “I do not like this, Your Grace.”

Dany hushed him and stepped towards the door with the two women, who had been searched by two of her Unsullied guards. “All will be well. I should not be long. I do not intend to stay for the birth, but rather to impart some wisdom upon Lady Lannister.”

Ser Barristan looked inside the room, his eyes quick and efficient, before he nodded and let her pass.

She saw her old friend turn to face away from the door as she closed it. Inside the chamber was stifling, filled with the bluish smoke of fragrant incense, and unnervingly quiet. Dany stood with her hands clasped together as the midwives hurried over to the woman bent over the bed, swaying back and forth and her face scrunched up. Dany remained quiet, not wanting to break Alestra’s concentration and dedication to bringing forth her child.

“You may leave,” came suddenly, and Dany looked up to see the midwives nodding before they departed. She was left alone with the heavily pregnant woman then, and Dany watched her warmly.

“It has been many moons, my dear,” Dany said, walking over to meet Alestra half way. Dany embraced her, feeling their bumps collide with sudden fear. She prayed that Alestra had not noticed, and it didn’t seem like she had when they pulled away.

“I have missed you, Your Grace,” Alestra said in her accented voice, and both women searched each other’s faces for several long moments. Dany finally smiled and pulled away, aiding the laboring woman to a chair, which she sat upon gratefully.

“This is harder than I imagined,” Alestra began, wincing as she adjusted herself in her chair. Dany sat next to her and knew that her face was filled with sympathy. She had never told anyone what had happened during her own labor, and most of it was a blur as it was.

Alestra sighed and fanned herself. “It is against Meereenese custom to let a woman cool herself when she is birthing a babe. It is thought to build strength in the child, as the mother has to work much harder to bring them forth.” She chuckled. “The heat makes me parched. Would you like some tea, Your Grace?”

Dany saw the service off to the side then, and went to stand to retrieve it. At Alestra’s sudden wave, she sat back down. “Another Meereenese custom is that it is taboo for a woman to rest. They say a babe will come quicker if a mother stands, and helps position them better. All I want to do is sit, but those bothersome midwives out there keep scolding me. Stand up, they say. Bring baby quicker, they rant. I am already exhausted.”

Alestra walked over to a delicate pitcher and poured two cups. She stood there for some time, her back facing away from Dany, and she could hear the poor thing panting through a contraction. When she was done, she asked if she would like anything added to her tea, and Dany declined. She didn’t much like tea, but she didn’t want to bother her any more than she already was.

Alestra lumbered back to the table then, the tea sloshing over the side of the cups. They both laughed.

“I suppose that you wanted to speak to me of Tyrion, Your Grace?”

Dany looked up, shocked. Alestra’s smile was crooked but lovely. Dany could feel her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “I...well, he—”

Alestra shook her head and set the cups down. “I know. He loves me. He loved me from the moment we met in Meereen, even though he will not admit it. I think it was the exoticness of my dress and my voice. He intrigued me as well, you might say. We had so many illicit adventures while you remained. I was truly sad when you sailed away with your army. I honestly never thought I would hear from him again.”

Dany knew that Tyrion had written to the woman when they had reached the Wall. There had been trade coming and going from ships once the Night’s Watch had received funds from the Iron Bank, and Tyrion had been able to send a letter to her. It had taken nearly three moons for Alestra to receive it, but once she had, she had immediately left for her long lost lover, battling evil at the Wall.

Alestra’s face became stern then. Dany sipped her tea, trying to prevent her lip from curling at the unpleasant taste. It was humid in the room however, so she still drank.

“By my culture, Tyrion has betrayed me. He lied to me, he withheld information from me. He was married still, when he married me, and our marriage was never legal. He got me with child while I was still his mistress, but we had both known for some time that we loved each other.” Alestra looked at Dany then, her black eyes glinting in the low light. “I cannot forgive what he has done to me. He will never see his child.”

Dany swallowed and fanned herself. The room was growing so hot it was nearly unbearable. “Alestra, surely you must see that Tyrion had thought Lady Sansa to be gone forever. Everyone thought her to be dead. You cannot fault him that.”

The older woman’s fist slammed into the table, making Dany jump. She felt herself sway slightly, and shook her head to clear it. _So hot._

“He never saw her body. He never had proof. He did not know for a certainty that his wife was dead! He _betrayed me!”_

Alestra’s high pitched shriek made it feel like a bell was ringing in her ears. She tried to stand, but felt like all of her strength was gone. She looked up at Alestra, feeling her face slowly move into confusion. She blinked heavily, feeling herself beginning to sag.

“Wha...what is going on?”

Alestra’s face twisted into an ugly smirk. Dany reached up her hand to her neck, feeling a sudden sting. Slowly, laboriously, she moved her hand into her blurring vision, and saw a dot of blood.

She tried to stand, knowing she was in danger. She looked down at the tea then, and watched as Alestra rose from her chair.

“What...wh-what did...did you put...in my tea?” Dany slurred, reaching for the cup. Her reach was awkward and she struck it, spilling it upon the white linen.

Alestra chuckled darkly and caressed her face, pushing Dany’s sweaty, pale hair out of her eyes.

“Mostly moon tea. And poison.”

 

 

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Author’s Note** : Short chapter, but it is the turning point of the story. This is what so many of you have been waiting for, what so many of you have been flaming me over because you hated it.

 

Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

Chapter Thirty Nine

 

The Lost Queen

 

She was trembling. She felt ill. Her forehead was dotted with sweat and her hands were clammy. Even her stomach was roiling. She longed to remove the layers of wool she was wearing, as it felt itchy and heavy.

Everything was just too much at that moment.

“Rickon has declined to eat with us. He said he’s mad with you.”

She let out a laugh that sounded a little too close to hysteria. Jon was eying her, obviously noticing her discomfort. “What did you say to him?” he asked, his eyes worried but his lips curled into an amused smile.

He pulled out her slung leather camp chair and she sat at his small table with a nod of thanks. She gazed about his pavilion and saw that it simple, definitely not something she would expect for a king. A table and chairs, a cot with furs, two wooden chests, three braziers, and a vanity with a mirror that held a chamber pot filled with water. There was even a suit of red and black armor that Daenerys had sent north with Sansa’s Dothraki handmaiden. His sword laid near his saddle bags, more or less tossed upon the ground instead of gently hung by an attendant. Jon had told her that he didn’t need anything more, and in fact, it comfortingly reminded him of his time in the Night’s Watch. Not having so much also helped their host with the speed of their travels to Winterfell.

She picked at her food as she explained to him about Rickon and his irritation. Their fare was simple and bland, but it was expected. Jon had spoken to her of the starvation that was often common during long campaigns, and as they were in the north and it was snowing, he would rather distribute food in smaller rations as it was harder to hunt. They also had to keep in mind that they may need to hold out for a siege at Winterfell. Although White Harbor was providing almost all of their needs, a caravan of food could go missing and people would start getting sick and weak, and then it wouldn’t take much for them to start dying.

He spoke softly to her of meetings with the lords and ladies of the north, what she could expect, what she should do. She had been present at the same exact meetings, so he was droning on, trying to fill the silence. She nodded aimlessly, trying to process his words and what she needed to say to him. Everything around her was taking on a dream-like haze, and focusing on what he was saying was extremely difficult.

“We will need to take care of the lords who shunned us once Winterfell is back in Stark hands.”

She looked at him then. Everything cleared. This was something that she could speak about. He took a bite of his venison pie and watched her. She could see carrots and mushrooms oozing out of the crust. She straightened in her chair. “I have several things in mind. I was even thinking of House Frey. Once things are settled.”

His brows puckered. “The Frey’s?”

She set down her dirk and folded her hands in her lap. She had to word this carefully. “Yes. They killed Robb and Mother. They killed Greywind and thousands of our men. My people. _Our people._ Just like Ramsay, they have gone unpunished. Daenerys has not seen fit to bring them to trial or anything of the sort. They are evil and need to be culled.”

She could see him warring within himself. The Stark inside and the Targaryen king he had to be. This was not something they had expressed previously, as it was a delicate subject. “Daenerys has spoken of it. For a while it was—is—just fixing the rest of the kingdom. And then you showed up. I think she was waiting for you to retake the north before we worried about it. They aren’t going anywhere, so there is no rush. But she knows that you will want revenge, as do I.”

She drew in a deep breath. It was a lackluster, yet satisfactory response. She knew that she and Rickon would be dealing with trials, beheadings, and possible war for the foreseeable future, correcting the errors of the houses who had decided not to side with them. Realistically it would be irresponsible of her to deal with House Frey so soon after regaining her home, but she couldn’t help but think bloodthirsty thoughts.

She was silent for some time, imagining the future and what might happen. She pictured herself in Winterfell, rebuilding her, making her better, stronger. Bringing her people home, protecting them. Making them flourish, making the north rich. She could finally utilize Petyr’s teachings in a positive manner. Then she saw the death, and the blood, and the revenge, and knew that the Seven Kingdoms would know the meaning of _Winter is Coming_ once more.

The thoughts of the future also reminded her of the reason why she was there in the first place. She tried to steel herself, straightened her spine yet again, but the fear was still prevailing. The unknown, the possibilities of what could happen if the wrong thing was said, if he wasn’t receptive to what she spoke of.

“There is something that I would speak to you about, Jon,” she said, unable to look him in the eye. The sick feeling returned full force then, and she gripped her woolen dress. Her food was curdling in her stomach.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, Sansa. Is that why you have been acting odd all evening?” he asked, and she glanced up to see his grey eyes trying to find something on her face. Something that would clue him into what was going on with her. He was always so perceptive, but there were a few things she had learned to hide from him over their moons together. He had jested recently that he could always tell when she was nervous, but he could no longer tell when she was afraid. He had seemed pleased about it, that she had learned to conceal fear, which was very important.

She was afraid now, however. Everything was going to change, from this moment forth.

This was going to be her future, her life, whatever happened. She drew a deep breath and forced herself to meet the man’s gaze in front of her. His eyes, so familiar, so beautiful to her, steadied her racing heart for that one moment that she needed to breathe, and to part her lips to say the words.

“I—”

His hands suddenly slapped loudly on top of the roughly-hewn table, making their pewter cups rattle. She gasped and jumped, and then watched with horror at what unfolded in front of her.

His entire body began trembling, and she cried out in dismay as his eyes rolled back in his head and froth began appearing from his mouth. His shuddering turned into violent shaking, and she screamed when he fell from his chair and began writhing on the ground uncontrollably.

“JON!”

She let her own chair careen wildly behind her as she dove for him. She didn’t know what to do, and she watched as foam dripped from his lips. She pinned his arms, trying to keep him from hurting himself, and felt tears fall uselessly as she watched his contorted face. If she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn he was in pain.

Not just pain...but agony.

He began gritting his teeth, and his hands fisted. A ragged growl escaped his lips, and his eyes locked with hers. His irises were black, inhuman.

“Oh gods,” she whispered, using all of her strength to hold his arms down. She heard rather than saw the tent flaps open, and a burst of cold wind accompanied the foreign language of several Unsullied guards. Their shouting was drowned out as she stared at the man she loved, helpless as she watched him writhe in the dirt.

Unsullied tried to shove her away, but she would not let him go. People began filing into the tent, lords and men that had happened by she imagined. She caught Tormund’s wide-eyed look and watched as he roared and threw four men aside to get to Jon’s side.

The back of Tormund’s hand connected with Jon’s face, but his eyes only rolled back into his head again. Sansa simply felt helplessness then, holding him there as he twitched on the wet ground, surrounded by guards and the lords of the north. She could hear their murmurs, their suspicions, their whispered words of _treason_ and _poison._ She could only think of him dying, like Joffrey had, suffering horribly before he died. She hadn’t been there when he had taken his final breath, but she had imagined in many, many times.

And then Jon stilled. Sansa’s chest heaved, sweat dripped from her forehead, and she let out a ragged breath as Jon did not move under her tremulous grip.

She feared the worst. Quaking, dying inside, she moved her aching fingertips to his face, to his lips, bloody from where his teeth had bitten, to his closed eyes, with no movement under the lids, and lastly, to his nose, where she finally felt movement of air from his sudden intake of air.

She nearly cried out with relief. Instead, abruptly realizing the situation, she looked around wildly at the inept men around her. “What are you doing? Get a maester! A healer! Do something! Anything but stand there! Your king needs aid!”

The tent emptied for all but her, Tormund, and Unsullied that made themselves scarce on the edges of the pavilion. She dashed her hand across her face to rid herself of her ineffective tears, but felt more follow. The sobs, the deep wracking sobs that she felt in her soul, fought so hard to release their way from her throat, but she held back the pain.

“Jon,” she murmured, her fingers brushing back the hair that had fallen into his face from his flailing. Mud was spattered all over him. His breathing grew deeper, more even.

Then his eyes shot open.

She shrieked as he bolted upwards, throwing her off balance. His eyes, bloodshot and wild, turned to her.

He looked feral.

She found herself scrambling backwards. The ground was soft from melted snow and the trampling of booted feet, and she slipped twice.

“Sansa.”

She must have let out a small cry in fear, she was sure of it. She saw him stand and hurry over to her, and she observed those darkened orbs, looking for something that might harm her, but only saw the silvery-grey kindness she was so used to.

She threw herself at him. His hold was fierce, painful, but she cared not.

“I thought,” she choked, nearly unable to breathe, “I thought you...you were dying. I thought you were dead.”

He pulled away to look at her. His face was white, unnaturally so, and she reached to cup his cheeks. His hands followed the movement and covered hers. The scars upon his burned hand stood out in vivid red. She wondered madly if it pained him.

“It was Drogon,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. She could see Tormund hovering in the background, his furs askew and his meaty fist upon his weapon. He looked uncertain, but she did not spend more than a second looking at the older man.

“Drogon?” she said, her voice cracking, her fingers caressing his face. She just had to touch him. To know that he was safe, alive.

But his features grew harsh again. He winced, as if in pain once more, and she feared another episode like what she had just seen. He shook his head, as if to clear it, and he looked at her. His eyes kept twitching, and she could tell he was struggling to focus.

“Drogon...she forced herself into my head. It felt like my mind was melting. I felt like I had...when I had been stabbed over and over again. I was dying.”

Tears brimmed in her burning eyes once more. “No,” she said, her heart flying in her chest so fast it hurt. Everything hurt. “No,” she said again.

“She was nearly insane. Desperate. Terrified. Something was wrong...she was trying to tell me something...”

He looked down, his brows furrowed, trying to remember what happened. She wanted to clutch him to her, to hold him, protect him, but she knew that she could not. She had not even told him...she must tell him...

“Jon, before...before whatever happened...”

He blinked. “Daenerys.”

He stood so quickly and fluidly she fell back down into the muck. Disregarding her entirely, Jon began scrambling around the tent. She watched as he darted back and forth, grabbing a cloak, his sword, a saddlebag.

“What are you doing, boy? Have you gone mad?” Tormund barked, striding over to her and yanking her up. She could feel the mire leeching through her clothes but the cold did not touch her.

“I have to go,” Jon said, his voice not his own. It was dark, deep, raw.

Tormund looked at her the same time she looked at him. They both said, “No!”

Jon’s legendary sword, usually placed high on his hip, was thrown over his cloak on his back in a smooth motion that bespoke familiarity. The saddlebag was over his shoulder. She hurried to him, wanting to do something but feeling powerless. Her hands flapped uselessly against his leathern chest. “What is wrong? Why are you leaving? You can’t! We are almost to Winterfell, Ramsay—”

“Daenerys is in danger. Drogon felt it. She tried to tell me...”

She stared at him, her head shaking faintly, in disbelief. Her mind flew, trying to gather her thoughts, but all she could say was, “Jon, no, you can’t leave. You can’t! The north _needs_ you!”

She felt a scream catch in her throat when the very ground quaked under her feet. An enormous roar filled the air, making her ears ring, making her entire body vibrate, and then it was _blistering._

Yells and cries began filling the air. Shouts of “fire!” followed. Jon looked at her and then ran from the pavilion. She followed.

Black flames were everywhere. Drogon was mad. She was slashing her tail and wings through the tents, searching, searching, and Sansa could see bodies flying through the air. One landed near her and was charred to near nothingness. She felt wetness splatter upon her skin, and prayed that it was not blood.

“DROGON!”

Jon’s roar drew the massive dragon’s attention. She snorted fire and black smoke, and all Sansa could think of was the evil place the septons spoke of when you were a bad person and you died.

And then Drogon began clawing her way towards him, destroying everything in her path.

“No!!!!!” Sansa shrieked, horrorstruck as she saw the death happening all around her. Men were screaming, in their death throes, running by her on fire. Everything was _burning._ “No...”

Jon ran, and not knowing what else to do, she tore after him. “Jon, no, please, STOP!”

He did not listen. His feet pounded on the ground, and she flew after him, faster than she ever had, her lungs straining, until she could grab his arm. She yanked, pulling at him with all of her might, making him stop.

He did not look like the Jon she knew.

“You cannot abandon us. You cannot leave!”

Anger exploded on his face. “Daenerys is in danger, Sansa. She could be dying. Drogon would never do what she had done if something bad hadn’t happened. I have to get to my wife!”

She smacked him. As hard as she could. Her hand cracked, agony exploded, and then she smacked him again.

Red bloomed upon his cheek, clear through his dark beard. His expression darkened. Her hand rose once more, but his own snatched it before she could hit him again.

“I’m leaving,” he declared. “You will finish this on your own. It was what you were always meant to do, Sansa. You do not need me.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Drogon was so close now, her enormous head hovered only several feet away. Sansa could feel her liquid fire eye gazing upon them.

“The north needs you, Jon. I need you. I love you.” The words ripped from her chest. The carnage around her grew, but the cries were fading.

All she knew then was the look upon Jon’s face as the words left her lips.

“You don’t know what love is,” he said, the words fierce and tearing. She choked, dying inside.

“I do. I know more than you, Jon. I love you more than anything I have ever loved in my life. I want you by my side. Please.”

She watched the pain emerge on his face. It was the saddest thing she had ever seen.

And she knew then. Knew, deep within her, in her core, what that look meant. The shuddering breath she released burned like the flames around her.

Desperate, she sought to scare him, hoping to do anything to keep him there.

“If you leave, I never want to see you again. You will _never_ return to the north. You are not only betraying me, but you are betraying them. Your people. The people who _love_ you. For a southron woman, a foreign woman, who does not love you!”

“But I love her!” he yelled, grabbing her, shaking her. His hold on her arms slackened once he realized what he had said, almost as if he hadn’t even known it himself. A growl from the dragon above them rattled the air. She tried to take a step back, but his fingers would not loosen.

“You promised,” she said suddenly, without thought, without care. Her lips trembled, and it took everything in her to not break down, to not collapse at his feet into the blood and mud and fire. She was shattering, falling apart, only kept together by sheer will. “You promised me, Jon.”

Confusion filled his eyes. His beautiful Stark eyes. It hurt to look upon him. “Promised you what?”

A sob bubbled in her throat. It tasted like acid. _He doesn’t even remember._

“That you would never hurt me.”

His eyes went wide. His hands let her go completely.

She knew what it signified—and her heart froze in her chest. Frost filled her veins, and she felt the expression on her face harden into ice.

“Never return. Never.”

He stared at her, and she could see the war that he was fighting within himself. It mattered not. She knew that he had made his decision.

So had she.

She turned away, back into the flames, back into the death his beloved wife’s dragon had caused.

“Never,” she whispered, and felt the words carried away on the wind from dark wings.

 

 

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**Author’s Note** : This is definitely a chapter that I would like to get feedback from. Thanks everyone.

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Author’s Note** : The aftermath of Jon’s departure.

 

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Chapter Forty

 

Jon

 

Drogon heaved, beating her wings so brutally that it took all of his strength to stay seated. Black smoke billowed from her nostrils, followed by tiny sparks. Her breathing was harsh, agonizing—similar to how it had been when she had been trying to get home before, when she had been in labor. But Jon knew her struggle was not from that.

She was flying harder and faster than she ever had, and it was destroying her body. Jon could see the beginning of tears in the membranes of her wings, could hear the start of a sickly rattle in her massive chest. He could feel her pain through the connection they had, the connection that had nearly killed him only the day before.

He placed his hand upon her, tried to show her how much he cared for her, tried to calm her, but he knew her urgency was something he could not soothe. Whatever she had seen or felt...whatever had happened had sent Drogon into a wild frenzy that had taken many lives.

The vice-like grip on his chest had not lessened since he had last seen the ocean of Sansa’s eyes spilling over with tears. He had seen those tears clear trails down her sooty cheeks, had seen them fall onto the scorched ground.

And then he had left.

He choked, picturing her face and how destroyed she had been. Her hair had been whipping around her head like so much fire.

_You promised._

_GODS!_

He pounded his fists into the saddle, as hard as he could, but the pain of the action did nothing to help the agony in his soul.

_You promised you would never hurt me._

And yet not only had he hurt her, but he had single-handedly abandoned the northern army and its people, leaving them behind when Drogon had spread disaster in her wake.

_Never return._

He had heard the screams; the wails of men feeling their flesh melt from their bones. Had seen the flames licking at tents spread far and wide. Had watched as Sansa bared her heart to him and had begged him, and yet none of it had mattered.

_Daenerys._

He had lost women he had loved. He could not lose another.

 

Tyrion

 

No words could describe the chaos.

He stared at Missandei, who could only stare back blankly at him.

It had been two days since Daenerys had disappeared, and Tyrion could only internally agonize over what happened. Ser Barristan, who had only obeyed his queen, had stood aside and let her enter a bedchamber of a supposedly laboring woman; a woman that they had all assumed could never do something like this.

_My love. My sweet, sweet Meereenese lover..._

Under the suspicion of it being too quiet for too long, Ser Barristan had entered the room to find it empty. The entire home had been torn apart, until Tyrion had been notified of Her Grace’s disappearance. That was when he informed Ser Barristan of the secret passageway under the home, which led not only to the Red Keep, but to other places within the city. It was the same passageway that Alestra had used once before, back when the riots had overtaken the city at the start of Dany’s reign.

Then the search had begun.

There had been a cup of spilled tea, which had been brought to Grand Maester Hyndyll and immediately tested. The fear Tyrion had felt being told it held moon tea and an unknown chemical had been unprecedented. Knowing that Daenerys had been captured and potentially in danger, along with possibly losing her most cherished babe, made him sick.

The city had been immediately overwhelmed with Unsullied, City Watch, and Lannister guards. Tyrion had sent out every raven housed in the Red Keep, demanding aid. Demanding anything.

But there had been no answers. No one had any idea of where she could be. There hadn’t even been a ransom note or a trace of her.

She was just...gone.

The dragons had been screeching and blowing fire in the sky when Tyrion had ridden out of the keep to Alestra’s abode. Even with their intelligence and knowledge that something had happened to their mother, they did not know where she was. He could tell they were searching, both near and far, but they came up with nothing. He sympathized with them, but could do nothing to help them.

Then the riots began.

Outraged cries of having no ruler filled the streets. Buildings were on fire, people were being killed in broad daylight. Despite the thousands of men trying to protect them and search for their monarch, the overwhelming numbers of civilians trumped anything they could do.

Tyrion could just watch from Maegor’s Holdfast as the city burned and people perished.

 

The Lost Queen

 

His hand twitched uncontrollably in hers. Her fingers ached from when she had struck Jon, but she ignored the pain.

“Pl...p-p-please. En...end it.”

She closed her eyes. Then nodded.

There was a harsh gurgle, and then his hand stilled in hers.

She opened her eyes to see Tormund watching her. She swallowed thickly, and then stood to go to the next man. Tormund cleaned his knife off and looked away.

Two days of no sleep. Two days of pure hell. Two days of being dead inside.

There were rows of bodies, both newly deceased and barely alive. She went to each one, in a never ending cycle, waiting for them to die, ask for death, or recover.

No one was recovering.

Over a thousand men had died in Drogon’s inferno. They were still counting the casualties and calculating the damages. Every hour a new body was found partially submerged in the mud or buried under a burned tent.

The next man seemed lucid enough to speak. She had visited him four times now, hoping for him to improve. She would check his wounds, feed him broth, hold his hand. Tormund stood guard, along with an Unsullied who had been left behind. She ignored the Unsullied completely.

“Your...Grace.”

She shook her head and smiled sadly. “No, sweeting. Lady Sansa.”

He had called her that since their first meeting. Spoke to her of how King Robb would have wanted her crowned. He was one of the few men that had survived both wars in the south and north, and had wanted this to be his final battle—the one that reclaimed Winterfell and restored the Starks.

The left side of his body had been burned badly. His hand had two fingers that had melted completely away, and his flesh was mottled and blistered. She changed his bandages and plied ointment to his wounds, and thankfully he had not gotten a fever.

He was trembling now, however. She figured it was from the pain. She had heard from many of the victims that it felt like they were still on fire. Every hour there were less and less cries of pain, but until there were no more, her job was not done.

She took his good hand within her own and held it. It was calloused and tanned, the sign of a hardworking man. She held it as he shook, and watched his face as tears leaked from his brown eyes.

She said nothing. It was a struggle for her to hold in her own sobs. It was like this often with dying men—they cried, they admitted truths and sorrows and regrets. They bared their souls before they closed their eyes for the last time. And it was by his tears that she knew his end was near. She had thought...thought that maybe he would make it. But it was not to be.

He gasped and blood flecked his lips. His hand tightened in hers, so hard that it felt like her bones would snap, but she would not let go.

“Queen...Queen in the North. Your...Grace. Avenge...avenge...”

And he died.

 

Jon

 

He had been awake for three days and could tell he was becoming delusional.

It was impossible to rest in any way with Drogon’s pace. His arms were weak with exhaustion, as were his legs. He tried to lie down, hunched over the saddle, but when his eyes would droop, he would start to slide out of the saddle.

He feared he would not wake up if this continued, and he would hurtle to his death.

His final solution was to take the long reigns and lash them around his torso and then to the saddle. He sagged in relief at the solid feel, knowing that as long as Drogon had no sudden movements, he would remain safe on her back.

He slept.

His dreams were vivid. There were no blurs or haziness. It was then that he realized he wasn’t really dreaming, but instead he was with Ghost. He felt warm, safe, happy. It soothed him to feel that way, something he had not felt in many moons. It reminded him of the few times he had spent hours in bed with Daenerys, making love and laughing at stories of their past and the plans for the future. He missed her so much then it hurt.

Ghost drifted away and the nightmares came. He watched Ygritte die, watched Val die. He didn’t see Daenerys die, but he did see her laid out on an altar, clearly dead. He saw himself sitting on the Iron Throne in an empty castle, grey haired and alone until the end of his days.

The wights were there, killing his men and his friends. He watched Satin die again, torn apart by frozen hands and screaming in agony as his intestines were pulled from his body, reaching for Jon to save him.

They always reached for him to save them...and he never could.

Sansa was next. He saw her crying, but strangely staring off into the distance and making no sound. She was sitting on the stone chair in Winterfell, the throne he had seen Ned sit in many times. Upon her head was a crystalline diadem, laced with iron. Her finger pointed, and he watched as blood bloomed until all he saw was red.

Ghost returned. He felt the warmth again, felt little bodies snuggled against him. He could feel affection and a connection that felt familiar, like an animal version of love. He delved deeper into their bond and the word came to the forefront of his mind.

_Mate._

It all made sense then. The constant reports to the council of the direwolves present in the Riverlands and Crownlands. Ghost’s extreme joy that he had felt not so long ago that had startled Jon awake from a pleasant dream. Ghost had found a mate, and she had birthed pups. The warmth was them in their den, safe from harm. It made Jon’s heart nearly burst from the feeling, knowing that Ghost had left Daenerys because of his mate, and his long disappearance was because she had been waiting to whelp.

It was difficult to understand the emotions Jon felt then. If Ghost had been with Daenerys, would he have protected her from what happened? Would any of it have mattered? Would she be safe, or still captured? What would have happened?

He was still days away from King's Landing, as they were now into the beginnings of the Riverlands. He had no idea if Daenerys was still gone, but he could only guess she was because of Drogon’s urgency.

Whatever had happened...she was in danger. Her life was in jeopardy. He couldn’t just sit by and wait for Drogon to make it to King's Landing. He had to do something now.

_Daenerys...I’ll do anything for you. I can’t lose you..._

His connection with Ghost wasn’t the best, but he still had to try. He had to do something...anything...

 

* * *

 

 

Ghost whined.

He felt confused, as if suddenly the world didn’t make sense. Everything was... _wrong._

He felt unexplainable pain. Everything burned, but it was the base of his skull that hurt the most. His mate next to him looked up from nursing their pups, and he growled at the strange blue eyes that stared back at him. Instead of the soft grey fur, he saw black, as if an unfamiliar wolf was next to him, sharing his den. He growled louder, felt saliva fill his mouth and drip from his bared teeth.

Tiny whimpers filled the air, then little yelps and cries. He heard them, understood them for what they were, but suddenly he felt danger. He was in close quarters with too many animals, wolves he did not know.

His life was at risk. _Her_ life was at risk. He saw the face of the one he was meant to protect and whimpered as he bolted from the den hidden in the deep woods.

The howl he heard was of mourning, but he did not recognize it. All he knew was that his friend’s mate was in peril.

_I will find her._

Daenerys

 

She was starving. She didn’t know how many days it had been, but she had never felt so hungry in her entire life. Not when she had been drifting homeless with her brother in the Free Cities, not when she had wandered the desert after her dragons had been born...nor when she had been taken by Drogon to roam the plains. Never anything like this—just so very long without proper sustenance.

They let her sip upon wine but it was not enough. She was so thirsty that her tongue felt like parchment in her mouth.

She dared not cry to waste the water within her. All of her thoughts were of her baby, of the child that she still felt move within her. Despite the unceasing wetness she felt between her thighs, she knew her babe lived as long as he moved.

She shifted, trying to ease the discomfort of her bound hands. Her fear of what was happening eclipsed anything that she had ever previously experienced. She had been captured before, but she had known Drogon was nearby and had only felt small amounts of trepidation over what might happen. In the end Drogon had saved her and she had escaped back to Meereen.

Drogon was not here this time, however. She wondered frequently if Drogon even knew. She had never fully explained how Drogon had known of her being in danger when in the fighting pit in Meereen; some had said it was the scent of blood, but Dany had her misgivings. Drogon had _known._

She didn’t remember much of what happened. All she knew was that she was somewhere dank. The air smelled of dirt and rot. It was cool, so she figured she was underground. Someone would come every few hours to let her sip at a wineskin, but their head was covered in a sack and there was little light. They would not speak to her, and when she spoke, she was beaten.

Her cracked, dry lips were split from being smacked and her face was bruised. It hurt to move her jaw but she knew it wasn’t broken. She had other sore and aching places upon her body, but those were all easily dealt with.

So she waited. Waited and prayed that she would soon discover who had taken her.

She slept and dreamed, as was her wont. It was disturbing however, for all she saw were flames...

The sudden bright light was so blinding that it sent piercing pain through her head. She reached up to protect her eyes with her bound hands, but she was thrown to the ground for her troubles.

“Get up, whore.”

She scrambled backwards until she hit the damp stone wall. Squinting, she looked up to see her tormentor.

She stared in disbelief.

“No,” she gasped. “No!”

He smirked. “Yes. Yes, my lovely queen.”

 

Ser Barristan

 

There was not a moment that he did not agonize over what happened. Every second of every minute that went by, he felt as if he bowed in on himself more, felt aged in a way that he had never felt before.

His back ached, his hands hurt. His bones felt weak, and his skin sagged. Tyrion had remarked the previous day that it looked as if he had aged a decade in mere days.

He felt it.

He was old. He knew it now, knew that there were no more questions he could ask himself about what had happened. It had only been several moons earlier when he had questioned his actions towards Daenerys, Jon, and Sansa’s safety, whether his younger self would have allowed such a thing to happen, and had hoped that it had only been a momentary lapse in judgement.

But no, it had not been. It had been him, getting old, losing his mind, becoming weak.

The young Barristan Selmy would never have allowed his queen to enter any room in an unknown location without thoroughly searching and attempting to dissuade her wishes on being alone. Even though he had briefly looked, any villain could have been hiding in a corner, or even under the bed. It could have been any number of things that his younger self would have seen, but his old filmy eyes missed.

He rubbed those eyes now and peered down at his hands. They blurred before they cleared, and he stared at the gnarled bones and veins beneath his paper thin skin. He fisted them and felt the discomfort that moving now gave him.

He slept for a few hours; something that he knew had been very much needed. He stood and flexed his muscles, tried to straighten his back but felt as if it wanted to refuse. His shoulders felt hunched, incapable of supporting the armor that he was donning.

He searched for his queen for hours. Sent out parties and groups of men both in the city and outside. The search radius had extended hundreds of miles, and he would often find himself becoming lost trying to find her—trying to stumble onto paths untrodden, needing to find her.

All the while he would think of what he could have done—should have done—and he always came back to being complacent and old.

He was old.

It had been some time since he had felt defeated. Now, as he sat mounted amongst the copse of trees and brush, he felt tears creep down his aged face. They felt so foreign, when he touched his gloved hand to his cheek, he looked on in shock at the sight of wetness upon the worn leather.

And that’s when he fell apart.

He slid from the saddle until he hit the ground in a jarring impact. Beside his horse he curled into a ball and cried, huge wracking sobs until he felt his throat burn and his eyes run dry.

He was old.

And he had let his queen die.

 

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**Author’s Note** : Thank you everyone for all of your reviews last chapter. It made me happy to see many of YOU happy. I hope that I do not disappoint you with the rest of the story. I am estimating to end on chapter 46-47. I currently am writing chapter 44 now.

 

Please review :)


	41. Chapter 41

**Author’s Note** : Hello my fellow ASOIAF fanatics! I hope that everyone enjoyed the first episode of season 7! In celebration of our long wait, I figured I would post this chapter. I struggled with nearly this whole thing...I hope that it does not come across that way to you! This chapter does require knowledge of the books, so it may or may not be confusing. Enjoy, as always.

 

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Chapter Forty One

 

Tyrion

 

“So you still deny that you have no information on Her Grace’s whereabouts?”

His Holiness, the High Septon, stood in his dirty smock and smiled his elusive smile as he lifted his hands in a dismissive gesture. He looked almost...smug. “As I have told you, my lord Hand. Queen Daenerys has ceased being a problem of mine for some time now. After she wed and showed that she was capable of handling the people and the realm, I returned to my work with the poor and needy.”

Tyrion leaned forward in the Iron Throne. He hated the thing, but it was a position of power and it allowed him to look down upon the High Septon, something he thoroughly enjoyed. He did not however, enjoy being poked in the arse.

“Then tell me why your Faith Militant are again causing problems within the streets of the city? Why they are attacking guards meant to protect the city folk? Inciting riots? Just this morning a woman was found hung from a building with the words _whore_ written upon her breasts.”

The aged man clasped his hands behind his back and began walking around the throne room. He looked conspicuously behind Tyrion to the window bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

“There was once a Seven-Pointed Star in that window, did you know, Lord Tyrion?” the High Sparrow said, avoiding the question by asking one of his own. Tyrion felt his lips thin in irritation, but decided to play the old man’s game. It was moments like this that he missed Varys, wherever he had disappeared to. Missandei was sweet, smart, and even capable of her own wickedness, but she was no Spider.

“Yes, I know. King Jon had it replaced for his queen to honor her and their house. It was a gift. What of it?”

The High Septon paused and gave him a vague smile. Tyrion could see the brown teeth behind those thin lips and fought a shudder. He was unclean in a way that Tyrion did not see as godly. After all of the slavery and experiences he’d had across the Narrow Sea, he always made it a point to be thoroughly washed. “It is believed by many that House Targaryen does not follow the Faith of the Seven. That they, in fact, follow the old gods, heathens in the north, the false deities that have been a bane of the Faith since the beginning.”

Tyrion watched as the High Sparrow’s pacing began anew. He knew where this was potentially leading to, but allowed the man his speech. He had to make it seem like Daenerys was a follower of the Faith, something he knew she was not, but used as a cover up to placate the High Septon and the people in Westeros.

“Daenerys, your queen, has stated on several occasions that she holds the Faith of the Seven, and even allowed herself and her king to be wed by you after their return from Casterly Rock. I was a witness.”

His High Holiness wagged his gnarled finger. “Ah, but they were first wed by you, Lord Tyrion, in the godswood at Casterly Rock. They forsook the Faith for their old gods by marrying in that place to begin with.”

Tyrion felt his anger growing, but knew that was exactly what the man wanted. He wanted to incite him, to encourage him to slip in his words. What the elder didn’t know what that Tyrion was no fool, and had in fact manipulated the High Septon on more than one occasion. This would be one of them. Tyrion could even hear the slight edge to his holiness’s voice that showed the old man was also feeling wroth. “King Jon holds the old gods and Queen Daenerys wanted to please him. But he pleased her in return by also wedding by her gods. As Daenerys is the sovereign and Jon is the consort, she is what matters in this, not Jon. Daenerys wed by your Faith, has allowed your Faith Militant to remain active to please the Faith, and has made many points in caring for the poor and needy, and in fact has gone out of her way to please _you,_ so that the people of the Seven Kingdoms were happy. She has let you run wild in this city, doing as you wish so that there were not more riots. Are you saying that the reason _these_ riots are occurring is because Jon holds the old gods and they were not wed firstly by the Faith? That is absurd.”

The old wrinkled hands rose in the air once more. His bare, filthy feet were silent upon the marbled floor. His shadow danced in the flames upon the pillars, twisting malevolently. It reminded Tyrion of Melisandre’s chaotic flames in the north, and could almost hear her chanting once more, her cries to the Lord of Light loud but lilting. He had to shake himself to rid himself of the memories. He even felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, and a suspicious cold feeling crept along his spine.

“Oh no, Lord Tyrion. I was only speculating, of course. There are many reasons why the Faith Militant could be inciting rage. The smallfolk are a sad, uneducated people...they often riot without reason. It could be as simple as a loaf of bread being stolen or as much as a queen disappearing and not knowing who leads them.”

Tyrion stood then. The High Sparrow’s control, or lack thereof, of the military body of his people was either deliberate neglect, or deliberate, malicious control. They were either being told that they needed to start the riots, to make the people in the city angry and raw—or that they were out of control, and going about wildly stirring trouble based upon religion, both of which Tyrion could not abide by any longer. The High Septon’s position of power was enough to worry him, as Daenerys had let the man do as he pleased for far too long, and his power over the people and the realm could be seen as an attempt to overthrow the queen, especially in her absence.

No longer.

“I lead them. I am in control of this city and of the Seven Realms until the queen has returned. There have been many times that I have had to make burdensome decisions in light of a monarch’s actions...or inactions. It is now that I declare that the Faith Militant and all of its sects shall be dispelled henceforth. There will be no more inciting of riots, for whatever reason, by your faith’s military factions.”

The High Sparrow stilled then, and his sharp gaze turned to him. His sagging jowls quivered, and it was the only indication that Tyrion had his absolute attention and his ire.

“You would slight the Faith in such a way? You would anger the people in this city, and in the Seven Kingdoms? You would risk tearing everything apart?” the High Septon said, and Tyrion could see the fear and anger growing within the man. He knew he had to press forward.

“The Faith Militant was once dispelled by King Maegor. His steps to outlaw the holy men were unprecedented, and I would not follow in his footsteps unless provoked. I am asking that you cease this nonsense, stop the riots and stop the Faith Militant immediately. We need peace, not war, during this time.”

The High Sparrow was gazing up at him, his pale eyes piercing, his chest heaving. “Cease, you say? Will you become Tyrion the Cruel, much like Maegor the Cruel, who brutally killed men and women of the Faith? Who burned the Sept to the ground?”

Tyrion sat then, signaling that the discussion was over. Four Unsullied approached the High Septon, who stood his ground. One thing could be said about the hoary man was that he was firm in his resolution—whether it was wrong or right, it mattered not.

“The Faith Militant will not be disbanded without a conflict. They fight for the smallfolk, the smallfolk you are supposedly protecting, but only controlling, Lord Tyrion. You hold sway over this city with your men while the people suffer with no queen. The country is falling apart while you stay in your castle, protected, clean, and fed. King Jon wages war in the north and you anger the lords in the south with your barren queen and her lies! You cannot, and will not, outlaw the very people protecting us all!”

Tyrion laughed as the High Septon was escorted out of the throne room. _Protecting them? They are killing the very people they swore to protect!_

The old man was mad. And he was up to something. A blind man could see that. The riots and fighting could be as simple as the smallfolk truly being idiotic, or it could be a mummer’s farce. Possibly an attempt to overthrow the Iron Throne. His words spoke of Jon warring in the north and Daenerys lying to Dorne...it concerned him deeply.

Either way, the High Sparrow had something up his sleeve and Tyrion knew he was behind all of this.

“Follow him,” Tyrion said quietly, and a shadow slipped away.

 

The Lost Queen

 

The usual lords were present. The mountain and wolfswood clans Burley, Flint, Harclay, Knott, Liddle, Norrey, Wull, Bole, Branch, Forrester, and Woods were intermixed with the noble houses, most of which were present. There were notable absences, some of which Sansa knew could not be helped, and others that chose not to be there. Cerwyn, Karstark, Dustin, and Umber were some that were missing, along with a few of the smaller houses that had said they were too weak or unable to send men, as they had died during the winter or from the wars that had plagued the north in recent years. It was unfortunate, but Sansa had said she would not strain them any further, and said that she would make it a point to send aid to those houses once she had reclaimed Winterfell.

Then there were others who ignored the call altogether. The most notable were the Crannogmen houses, as House Reed had not answered any call to arms despite multiple ravens.

Nearly forty men and women were present in the soaring pavilion, the canvas sides billowing from the freezing wind. Inside was warm from braziers, the coals glowing hotly and the air around them shimmering from heat.

Sansa stood at the opposite end of the tent, farthest away from the Unsullied standing guard. Once she was seated at the small table covered in maps and scrolls, she attended to Rickon and made sure he was comfortable. Men and women gathered round, and she knew it was time. Time to accept what had happened.

“No words can describe what has transpired here,” she began, searching the faces of the men and women surrounding her. Their expressions were pained, and she forced down her own agony as she continued. She had thought for hours on what to say to her lords and ladies, and nothing she could think of would fit the ache that filled her.

Her gaze slid to the right, and she caught the eyes of Lady Margaery, hovering in the background, her face pale but resolute. She was alone.

“King Jon has abandoned us. His promises...they were lies in the end, and he has gone back south after destroying so much of what we hold dear. What he has done...”

She fought the lump that formed in her throat, but did not have a chance to complete her thought.

“Unforgiveable!” someone shouted in the back, and there were distressed murmurs and some sad nods. The people in front of her blurred, and she had to forcefully blink back tears. The one thing she could not do was appear weak in front of these men and women.

“The boy I know would not have done this! He saved us all! He was tricked by sorcery!”

Sansa caught sight of Tormund pushing through the crowd to the front. He was one of the few that had seen almost everything, and his input was valuable, if undesired. She had to weave this tale properly, if she were to not lose support.

“That...that _beast_ invaded his mind. Nearly killed him! Jon would never just leave for no reason. Whatever happened, it wasn’t because he no longer loves his people! He died for us!”

Anger grew within her. Anger over what Jon had said to her as she had declared her love to him, begging him to stay, to help them. That anger wanted to explode into fury as she remembered the hundreds of men that she had seen in tortuous pain, writhing in agony, begging for death.

“Very few of you know, or understand what happened that day. All that needs to be known is that Jon left to be with Daenerys.”

Gasps filled the tent. “On the eve of battle? Just mere days away from reclaiming his childhood home?”

“That southron queen could have waited! Why would he just leave?”

“That makes no sense, Lady Sansa! Jon fought for us. He wouldn’t abandon us without reason!”

“A thousand men! A thousand men died for that woman!”

She slammed her hands down on the table, interrupting the chaos of outrage and despair. They were all echoing her thoughts, but she could not let them know. “It no longer matters! He is gone! Gone for good!”

The tent quieted to eerie silence. She closed her eyes and let her head sag. The weight she felt upon her shoulders was enormous. Her legs wanted to buckle and she just wanted to sit, to lie down, to sleep and never awaken. The pain filling her was unimaginable.

“I know...I know that it hurts. All of you fought with Jon, battled against the Night King and saved Westeros. Your songs will be sung for generations. All of the Seven Kingdoms knows what happened here. The fact remains that Jon is gone, he has taken the dragon, and he is not returning.”

“Makes not one bit o’ sense,” she heard Tormund grumble, and she watched as he pushed his way to the back of the pavilion, where he tossed aside the flaps and disappeared. She drew in a deep breath, and then forced a smile down at Rickon, who touched her hand. She squeezed it. He was all she had now, and she would not let him go.

“We are still over a sennight away from Winterfell, especially if it continues to snow. The cargo trains and fewer men to help will keep us slow.” She pointed to several marks on the map of the north. “The remaining wounded are in the process of being sent back. Have we received an official count of what men we have?”

Sansa raised her head to see Lord Condon gesture and move forward. “My lady, the news is dire.”

She drew in another long, steadying breath. She saw Rickon look at her, and then she nodded. “Go on, my lord.”

“After all of the casualties, wounded, and destruction of our stores, equipment, not to mention desertion, it appears we have around three thousand men, four hundred of which are horse, the rest foot. We have lost over half of our siege engines, ladders, and other tools. Spare armor is very low. As is morale, my lady. More men run off by the day. They fear that the dragon will return.”

Rickon slammed his palm down upon the large table, making it shudder. It made everyone jump in surprise, including herself. Somewhere outside the tent there was a howl. “Why are they leaving? Drogon is long gone and we have a battle to fight. Anyone caught leaving should be sentenced to death for desertion! Just like with the Night’s Watch! My father would take their heads!” He paused and looked at his sister when he saw the wide eyes around him. “Right, Sansa?”

Many nodded, including Maege Mormont, one of her staunchest supporters. “Aye, my lord, we need to immediately issue a warning. No more fleeing, the north is not made of cowards! What kind of behavior is this? From what houses is this happening? The men from Bear Island would rather perish than desert House Stark!”

The old, sweet, caring Sansa buried deep inside wanted to speak for the deserters, to show the people present that these men had been through so much, but she effectively smashed the thrashing soul inside.

Words came to her then that she had thought many times, many years ago.

_I am stronger within the walls of Winterfell._

She wanted her home back, and she would sacrifice her entire army to see it returned to Stark hands.

_I will never hurt you, Sansa. I promise I’ll protect you._

She closed her eyes. _But you didn’t. You hurt me. And I no longer care._

“Death it shall be,” she said, looking to Rickon and receiving his nod. They had begun working together, a team of sorts, after Jon had abandoned them all. Rickon’s entire attitude had changed after the carnage, and it was almost like he was taking things seriously, despite his immaturity. Sansa was impressed with him, as were the lords of the north.

Lord Condon bowed and immediately left. He was in charge of keeping count of the men and supplies, and along with Lady Maege, they both went to begin issuing desertion threats. They could not lose any more men, and if it meant they had to scare all of them, then so be it.

“Lord Manderly has his entire city working through the night to supply us with new equipment, men, and food. We are left with the decision of waiting or continuing, my lady,” Brandon Tallhart said, and Sansa eyed him critically. He was normally quiet, conservative, but highly intelligent. He was also young, and the potential heir to Torrhen’s Square. Sansa knew him to be one of her suitors, as most of the single men were in the north. He was handsome, she had to admit, but she thought little of it.

She had no interest in men. Her heart was frozen in her chest.

“Undoubtedly Ramsay is aware of our movements and has called to his banners. Many of them will not answer, as they are with us, but given time, some will arrive. He has a castle, and we have limited men and siege equipment. So long as the storm is with us, we have the element of surprise. I suggest we move forward.”

Some nodded, some looked away or shook their heads. There was no right or wrong answer. It was more than likely they were all marching to their death as it was, but this was their last chance, and their last stand.

Jon had abandoned them and taken their largest military power with him. The crown was not going to aid them in this endeavor, not that she would allow them to as it was. It was either fight and possibly die, or wait forever for something Sansa would no longer accept.

The north was alone, and she would remember.

 

Daenerys

 

“I am queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and you cannot do this to me.”

He laughed at her. She felt anger simmer beneath the surface, but she was growing weaker. Hunger and thirst clawed at her. She had to save any strength she had for when she truly needed it. Most of all, she had to protect her babe.

“You were always simple-minded. It was continually about you and what was yours. My dragons. My kingdoms. My _everything._ It was difficult to tolerate your behavior when we were together. You actually disgusted me at times, but I still loved you.”

Trystane gripped her face, his fingers and short nails digging into her flesh. She spat at him, causing him to jerk away, but he immediately returned the gesture with the back of his hand. She felt her lip split once more, and tasted blood anew.

“What a strong man you are, striking a woman. I imagine you feel powerful,” she seethed, wanting to kick out at him, but her ankles had been bound shortly after she attempted it the previous day. She would have to kick out with both legs at once, and she would immediately fall to the ground if she did. The bindings were only loose enough for her to scoot herself along to a corner to piss or rest. It was difficult to walk, but she managed.

“In Dorne, women are equal to men. A man can strike a woman and receive no scorn. That is a notion from the rest of Westeros, an enervated sentiment that has only withheld women from power for centuries.”

She glared at him. She felt her Targaryen ire seething. It was times like this that she forgot she was with child, and only thought of how fiercely she wished to catch him unawares with her bare hands. “I am bound, weak, starved. We are _not_ equal. Free me, feed me, allow me to gather strength, and I will gladly fight you.”

He chuckled as he stepped away, sweeping his cloak aside before he sat in a rickety wooden chair. His glowing cloth of gold tunic did not match the atmosphere of the underground room. In fact, the roots that had plunged through the crumbling walls seemed to be reaching for him, wanting to claim that gold. “I have no plans of doing such a thing. I have been trained extensively in the deadly arts, my sweetling. You would not be a challenge in the least. I am...simply holding you until the proper moment.”

“And what moment is that? Who are we waiting for?” she asked, watching him closely for a reaction. He only shrugged and smiled. He was too vague, and too clever to allow any information to seep through his words. She had tried many times. She could tell that her hunger and thirst were distorting her ability to reason. She repeated herself often, but did not understand why. It did, however, make her remember when she had been pregnant with Rhaego, and how her mind had often struggled with understanding even the simplest things. Her handmaidens had told her that it was because of the babe.

_“Your womb, Khaleesi. It is controlling your mind. It takes all of you to grow your baby. You will not be yourself until you have birthed the khal of khals.”_

“We are waiting, yes. For who, I shall not say. It will be a...surprise.” His laughter flooded the dilapidated chamber and strangely echoed. She felt like her ears were ringing.

She jerked her head to the side at the sudden sound of a knock on the thick wooden door. She had learned that there were trees outside, so she could only assume they were in a forest. She knew so little...it was all she could do not to scream sometimes. It reminded her too much of her youth, always living in fear and wondering when she would have her next meal.

“Come.”

The light in the lantern flickered as wind blew inside. And Dany stared.

Alestra stood in the low ceiling room, healthy, although a little worse for wear, and still very pregnant. She felt rage gather inside her, and she flung herself forward, uncaring of the chains, growling and cursing. “You! How could you do this? Why? What could be your motive behind any of this? Tyrion loves you! We all loved you!”

The haughty look on Alestra’s face tore at Dany’s heart. Tyrion had simply adored this woman, loved her so viciously that he would have died for her, and it killed her inside to know how much pain he was undoubtedly experiencing. With her entire being she wanted to be there to comfort him, to let him know he was not alone...

“And I loved him, Daenerys. It was the sole reason why I never killed you.”

Dany scowled at her, trying to understand her words. She began shaking her head, in disbelief, trying to connect instances in her mind where she could remember Alestra in the past, having ever met her, who she could possibly be. Why would she have wanted to kill her?

“It is simply amazing that you ever trusted a single Meereenese person. You know that Hizdahr zo Loraq wed you and planned to kill you. Half of Meereen was behind it, including his entire family.”

Alestra walked over to her, but stayed out of reach. Her hands covered the huge roundness of her belly, which was noticeably lower than it had been when Dany had been with her several days before. She knew that Alestra would give birth at any time. It also meant that she had lied about being in labor when Dany had gone to her.

It had all been lies. What else was she lying about? Was she the person behind all of this?

“I was there, that day in Meereen in the pit when Hizdahr tried to poison you. Sitting with our family. I even saw you glance over at us several times. I was watching you, hoping you would die.”

Nothing made sense to Dany. She tried to think back to when she had been sitting next to Hizdahr zo Loraq, denying the locusts that she hadn’t known were poisoned at the time. Hizdahr had pointed out his family in the stands, and she had noticed a group of veiled women mixed with only a handful of men. She had thought almost nothing of them.

“You...you are—”

 “His sister. Alestra zo Loraq.”

Memories hit her hard then. The almost odd way that Alestra had appeared in court after her return to Meereen, despite Dany being at war. The way she had intrigued Tyrion, how quickly they had become lovers. All along she had meant to kill Daenerys, to avenge her brother, to return Meereen to its previous glory. She had gotten intimate with Tyrion so she could get close to her, and in the end, had fallen in love with Tyrion and spared her for that reason.

It was unbelievable.

“You...you whore. You despicable, disgusting, vile—!”

Alestra’s hand thrust forward with uncanny speed and gripped Dany’s hair. She hissed at the pain, but could not fight back. She could only listen to the words quickly whispered in her ear.

She screamed, struggling against the woman’s hold. “No!”

The abrupt movement behind Alestra made Dany’s eyes dart over to Trystane, who looked angered. “What did you say to her, bitch?”

Alestra stepped away, and Dany saw the fear in her eyes. The words Alestra had spoken tore at her, and she could only watch as the pregnant woman stood just out of arms reach, trembling, with her hands wrapped around her belly.

“I said that she would die, my lord.”

Trystane sniggered as he moved behind her, looking at her from different angles. “You told her something you should not have. I am not stupid. Does it make you feel better to have spilled your guts? Such worthlessness. Pointless, all of it. You should have just killed the bitch while you had the chance,” Trystane said, stepping behind Alestra. He caressed her face, her swollen breasts. “You were only a pawn. Useless, in the scheme of things. Sad, really. A pity this needs to happen now.”

The brown-skinned woman closed her eyes, and Dany watched as Trystane’s dirk slid with sickening smoothness into her heart.

The gurgling was horrific, but it was over quickly. Alestra’s body collapsed upon the ground, the blade sticking out obscenely. Blood began pooling under her, creeping towards Dany with bloody, reaching fingers.

Trystane’s lips pursed as he looked at Alestra’s dead form. “Waste of a beautiful woman. I would have liked to have kept her, but he would not allow it. She was protected by the Mother. I imagine whatever she told you, that it was important. He must know.”

He turned around and took the lamp. He watched her for several moments before shaking his head. “He will be here soon. Then our plans will be in motion. I will be back shortly. Enjoy your last hours.”

Then the door slammed, and she was swamped in darkness.

Ugly sobs gurgled out of her throat. She clawed at the chains on her wrists, on her ankles, madness seeping into her mind as she desperately tried to free herself.

_“I am under their control. Save my babe. Save Tyrion’s babe.”_

_Oh gods. Alestra._

She pulled with what little strength she had, trying to yank her hand free. She had to hurry. There was no time.

She turned her hand and wrenched, tried folding it nearly in half, but it was too tight. She worked it painfully, hoping to bloody her skin and loosen a way for her hand, but it did not work. And she did not have the strength of mind or body to break her bones.

“Please. _Please,”_ she heard herself chanting, heard herself panting in her efforts. She was crying but there were no tears, just horrible sounds escaping her.

She yelled with frustration at how close Alestra was, just out of reach of her hands...

_My hands._

She quickly shifted around. Her ankles were bound, but she could _reach her._

The position was painful as she was forced to hang from her chained wrists, but she was able to reach the body with her foot. All she had to do was figure out a way to grab a hold of her, and she could pull Alestra’s body close enough to try to save the baby within her.

Every second was counted in her mind. She imagined the baby suffocating inside her friend’s womb and sought to do anything, try anything, to pull her nearer.

_There._

Her bare toes slipped inside a section of fabric. Dany could feel blood, and knew it to be the open cloth at her chest.

Pulling strained the tender muscles in her pelvis, but the thought of the baby pushed her through any pain. She only had to move her a few inches before she was within reach of her hands, and then Dany was able to pull her closer.

Then she was in a frenzy.

There was no light but that leaking from under the door, so she was searching almost blindly. Without hesitation she yanked the knife from Alestra’s chest and began slicing through fabric at the woman’s belly. Then she was cutting through skin and fat and sinew.

Warm blood made her hands slippery, but she was firm and held true to the knife. She could feel flesh and muscle parting, and searched for any movement or anything that could indicate where the babe might be. She feared cutting the child, feared killing it, but she had to risk it. The babe was more than likely dead as it was.

She felt a thin, slick membrane and a possible limb underneath it. She tried to use her fingers to decide where to cut, and prayed as she made a small slit. She stuck her fingers inside and tore apart the tissue, and then dove her hands inside Alestra’s womb.

Her heart pounded fiercely within her chest. She could not feel movement of the babe as she pulled it from the body. It was slippery and waxy, and Dany felt hot tears reach her eyes as she gathered the babe against her breast, cooing at it and rocking it back and forth as she stroked it. She begged the gods to let the child live, to save it, to not let Alestra’s life be in vain.

Time ticked by. She cried harder, her hands rubbing the baby’s back vigorously.

And then she felt it. Heard it. The deep inhale, and a gurgled wail.

Dany cradled the baby against her and wept.

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : This chapter was very hard to write. If you have any questions or confusion, let me know and I will be happy to explain. Love you guys!


	42. Chapter 42

**Author’s Note** : Another chapter that many have been waiting for. Enjoy.

 

* * *

 

Chapter Forty Two

 

Jon

 

Drogon’s landing was none too gentle.

His entire body ached and burned with pain and exhaustion. He sat in the saddle for several long moments, just breathing, struggling to not just sag forward, his body unused to being still after so many days of constant hurting and flying.

His arms barely wanted to move as he began untying the reins from around himself. His fingers were stiff, and he gritted his teeth as he began moving. He tried to slide carefully down Drogon’s armored side, but more or less fell ungracefully into a heap of bones and flesh.

He groaned pitifully and just lay there, miserable. He had pushed himself so hard that he wasn’t sure he could motivate his body to move again. He was severely dehydrated and hungry; his muscles cramped and spasmed with the new movement, and he tried to keep the agony at bay by thinking of his wife, who needed him more than ever.

It was Drogon who ultimately got him to relocate his carcass. She had left a sizeable crater from her hard landing, and she now stood within the indentation. He thought at first that she might trample him, but then grew disgusted as she shifted into a familiar position and promptly began to shit.

He rolled away as far as he could, as quickly as he could. He gagged at the stench, but observed with sudden concern over the sight of bloody liquid pouring forth from her.

He watched as she strained, listened to the deep rattle within her chest. She let loose what sounded like a cough, and the entire area in front of her went up in flames. He knew that it was important that she could still produce fire, but he also knew that she was not in good shape.

He forced himself to stand and walk over to her once she was done with her business. The look she was giving him was full of annoyance and anger, as if she were saying _hurry up, human. There is no time. Do not worry about me._

He went to her nose and placed his hand upon her snout. Clear fluid ran from her nostrils and disappeared into her mouth or dripped onto the ground. A greenish gunk sat in the corners of her fiery eyes, and the areas Jon knew to be her ears had crust about them. She bared her black teeth at him, but Jon knew she would not harm him.

Fear had begun clawing its way up his spine on only the first day of their flight, but now...

“Drogon,” he murmured, his stomach churning in a way that did not suggest his unremitting hunger. Her eyes closed at his kind touch, and in that instant Jon felt that intense, painful connection that they had. The pain was not the same this time, however.

_She’s..._

Her eyes opened again, and she snorted affectionately right in his face. He coughed at the smoke, knew that she had effectively covered him in black ash and possibly even singed or burned off his facial hair, but he did not mind. He never would.

He hurried as quickly as his aching body could to a nearby stream, dove his face straight into the flowing liquid and chugged as much water as his stomach would tolerate. He filled his water skin with it as well, and then hurriedly pissed before he struggled back onto Drogon’s back.

Drogon’s take off was a fail. It appeared as if her nonstop, violent speed had finally taken its toll on her. He listened to her lungs huff and struggle, and then she stopped her feeble run and take off attempt. He could feel a shudder run through her enormous body, and then he sat there upon her back as she did not move.

He did not know what to do. She hacked, but instead of flame, large globs of mucus went flying out of her maw. He jostled upon his saddle, having to hold on with what little strength he had as she continued her fit.

She finally calmed, but she laid her head down upon the ground with a hard thump. Jon could feel the vibration inside her body, could tell that she was growing very ill from pushing herself so hard.

_Drogon...you are doing this for your mother. You did all of this...to get me to her._

She let loose what almost sounded like a wail. Her head shifted, and she used her wing arms to try to sit up, but ended up slipping. Jon would have found himself flying through the air, but he had just barely managed to tie the reins around himself.

_I can’t force you to do anything, Drogon. But we are less than a day away at this pace. Just get us home, girl. I will find her. I will save Daenerys. I will save your mother._

The grunt that the dragon let out sounded ragged and painful. But still she rose, and Jon held his breath as she drew in a deep lungful of air. He was expecting her to begin her typical run before she spread her wings and took flight, but instead, she roared, roasting everything around her in a flame as black as night. His whole body tingled and the hair on his arms stood on end, and he knew what the feeling was.

_Magic._

It was so similar to the feeling he had experienced when they had been fighting beyond the Wall, when the dragons had bathed the armies in their deadly fire and Melisandre had weaved her own sorcery. It was the same feeling he had felt walking out of Val’s funeral pyre, and the night him and Daenerys had made love for the first time while Drogon had labored and brought forth the first dragon eggs in over a hundred years.

He felt the muscles in the body beneath him flex and shift, and Drogon shoved off so hard from the ground that one of the reins snapped and he nearly flew off her back. His quick reflex to stay alive saved him from certain death.

It took nearly a minute for him to regain his breath from her launch. He had never experienced her doing that before, and could only attribute it to his miserable motivational speech.

Over the next few hours he felt his strength and energy slowly returning from the intake of water. He could see familiar landmarks and knew that they were less than a day away. Soon they would see the beginnings of the Crownlands.

The sun began to set, and the rhythm of her fiercely beating wings soothed him into a sleep wrought with shadows...

 

* * *

 

Daenerys

 

She had been sleeping for only a little while when the tiny babe nestled under her filthy gown began rooting at her breast.

The tears that she had fought so hard to keep inside her, to not waste their precious moisture, had fallen more than once in the last few hours, as she feared that the baby would perish without nourishment soon. She had no tutelage in the health and wellbeing of newborns, and could only assume it would not last very long.

So she prayed for a savior, to all the gods she knew, from Westeros to Asshai, for someone to rescue her. To save Tyrion’s little child, the baby that he had wanted so badly with Alestra. She prayed for Alestra’s soul and for her to have peace—for whatever had happened to her, in the end, she had been true as both a friend and a mother. And not only that, but Dany had her suspicions on that she had been true to Tyrion as well, that somehow, someway...someone had manipulated her Meereenese friend.

The babe soon drifted back into a restless sleep, and Dany held the precious life against her, murmuring sweet nothings and rocking it back and forth. It came as a surprise to her then, when she thought of the babe as an _it_ , that she did not know the sex. It took only a cursory movement of her hand to feel that it was a boy.

_Tyrion has an heir...I must make sure that he survives. I must save his child at all costs._

The waiting drained her both emotionally and physically. She could not stand not knowing where Trystane was, or what he was doing. Who he was colluding with, who was the mastermind behind her capture. She knew it was not the Prince of Dorne, for while he was intelligent and spiteful, she felt that in the end, despite her scorn of him, he would have waited for the babe she had nestled safely inside her. He would have waited to join their families together once more, so that his family was again ruling in King's Landing.

She felt herself falling asleep shortly after the babe. She dreamed of something she had many times, of a man with a shadowy face, who was her lover; the man that she knew was the third man, the man that would be the one she would love forever.

_...three heads has the dragon..._

_...three fires must you light...one for life and one for death and one for love..._

_...three mounts you must ride...one to bed and one to dread and one to love..._

_...three treasons will you know...once for blood and once for gold and once for love..._

The shadows danced before her eyes until she was startled awake by the sound of the door creaking open on its old hinges. She blinked as she sat up against the wall, trying to clear her vision.

“I would have loved you, you know. I would have worshipped you. Given you everything you ever wanted. The world, even.”

She watched his eyes widen then, when he caught the sight of Alestra’s mangled and bloody body. He looked at her closer, and drew a deep, cleansing breath.

“I did not think you were close enough to withdraw the blade, let alone be capable of what you have done. But nothing should surprise me with you, should it?”

Dany scooted backwards, but she was already against the wall. All she could do was wrap her arms around herself, to try to shield the babe. The knife, the one that she had used to slice open Alestra, was behind her.

“He will not be pleased with me when he sees that I have slain a child of the Mother. Undoubtedly he will tell me how I have sinned, but it is nothing new. I am from Dorne—I sin every day in the eyes of the Seven.”

He strode to her then, and fearing for the babe, she wrapped her arms around him tighter, trying to protect him, but Trystane only yanked her away enough to retrieve the blade.

“Tsk, my whore queen. You did not even put up a fight. You would protect the life of the child over your own life?”

She thought of the significance of Tyrion’s child, of her own life, and of her own babe inside her. Which life was more precious? Which mattered more? Could she even answer that question?

“I care not, honestly. I am just here for the entertainment. In the end, it won’t even matter. You will both be dead.”

Panic clawed at her throat and she had to fight for words. She was so helpless, and the babe even more so. It was a terrible internal struggle, feeling such a way. “What is your plan?”

Trystane sat back in the old wooden chair, setting his oil lamp beside him as he always did. The key to her chains jingled as he withdrew an apple from a pocket, and began eating it leisurely. Dany felt her stomach growl, and knew that it had been over a day since the last time she had ate or drank, and even before then, only days of sips of wine and bits of dried meat.

“It is not _my_ plan, Your Grace. It is his. You shall meet him in only moments. I am sure he will tell you everything.”

“He?”

Trystane’s beautiful face frowned, marring its beauty. “Yes, you fool. Surely you have figured out who it is by now? I don’t know how I could have been any more obvious,” he said, spitting out a pip he had almost eaten. She watched it bounce off the moldering stone wall. “The man has been the bane of existence of several monarchs, has made your life miserable with the city and the smallfolk and his pathetic army, and you let him walk all over you. He has probably been the cause of every problem you have had since you were crowned.”

She lowered her gaze to peer at the soft tuft of blond hair on the babe’s head. He slept soundly. She rubbed his back through her dress, hoping he was warm enough from her body and the meager cloth.

“The High Sparrow,” she murmured, not surprised but still stunned all the same. She had wanted to believe him to be truly good, truly holy, to be a man of the people and the realm, but in the end, with his actions, she couldn’t imagine that he was.

_I have failed to see who he was. I have failed as a queen in such a short amount of time..._

“I see you questioning yourself. Thinking, with that glorious silver head of yours. You can be quite intelligent when you try, but you usually only think about what you want, or about yourself, rather than others or important matters. Your kingdom, your throne. I had hoped to marry you, to get that notion from your head, but you betrayed me, you treasonous little whore. You married that bastard over a prince of Dorne! Over one of your true kin, a man that could have ushered in an era of greatness! You shunned my entire family—Quentyn...he burned trying to prove himself to you. Arianne fell in love with Aegon...and then died when Aegon lost fighting Cersei south of King's Landing. Everyone died because of you! It was only me left...and I knew that I had to try to save Westeros, to save the people from your greed. But then I met you...and I saw your beauty, and your potential, and I thought...just maybe, maybe I can change her. I could show her the sacrifice of helping the people, of working hard to build a magnificent civilization. We could have turned Westeros into Valyria, my queen! But no...”

Dany could feel fury seething inside her, listening to his words. He had no notion of the sacrifice _she_ had been through, of the hell _she_ had experienced growing up, running and fearing for her life. Of losing a man she had loved, of losing her first child...the thousands of people she had lost along the way, not only to protect the helpless, but to return to Westeros and save _them..._ her people, from Lannister rule, and to restore the Targaryen name. But then she had learned of the Others and the Night King, and she had disregarded her crown and went to help the north when she had been called upon. She had seen tens of thousands die...she had fought for all of them, had tried her best to protect them. And then they had won...and she had gone through the Seven Kingdoms with Jon, with the Prince Who was Promised, the man who had wielded his fiery blade and had slain the Night King as her dragons had burned his evil army into nothingness...they had gone to every kingdom but the north, had the lords and ladies pledge their fealty to them, and she in return had promised to care for them and rebuild them, had promised that the wars were over...

King's Landing had changed so many of her plans. She had promised to be kind and gentle and loving as a ruler, that there would be no more fighting. She had felt so helpless under the constant observation of the High Sparrow, and his control of the people and his religious army. She had been so shortsighted, so worried about herself, of Jon, and their happiness, rather than what she should have done. And for months, while Jon was gone, she had only been thinking of the babe within her, her madness with protecting it, sparing little thought as to what was going on in the rest of Westeros, despite her knowledge of their need. She had mourned Jon’s absence, felt depression and sadness dig its sickening claws into her, had just been idle with her duties...allowing Tyrion and her council to run the kingdoms...

“There is much you are right about,” she said softly, stroking the babe softly. He squirmed just the slightest bit, but then stilled again. “I have been selfish in many areas of my life. But it was never my intention. I have always longed for...and loved the Seven Kingdoms. I knew in my blood that it was my birthright, and that I would bring them to greatness. It was never my intention to harm or neglect my people.”

She looked him in the eye then, and hoped with all the hope she had inside her that what she was about to say would change Trystane’s mind, to somehow save her, Tyrion’s babe, and the unborn one within her.

“I am with child, Trystane.”

He stared at her, and she hoped that he had heard her. “The heir that I promised you...I carry within me.”

His face began to mottle with redness, and she knew that indescribable rage was upon him. He knew then, that his plans with the High Sparrow could have been different, if not null. If only he had known that she was not barren, as rumors had told him. In her desperation to protect her child, she had refused to inform anyone of its existence. Trystane could have gone a different route, had waited, instead of killing her.

“You—!”

The door flew open, leaves and other detritus flying inside, making the lantern flicker. Two men entered, wearing brown woven garments from head to toe, their faces dark from the hoods on their heads. And behind them, followed the man she had been waiting for.

“Queen Daenerys Targaryen,” he said, not bothering to bow, but only giving her a mocking smile.

She sat quietly, leaving her face stiff so as not to show any emotion. If anything she felt disdain upon the sight of him. He disgusted her.

Just as much as she disgusted him, no doubt.

It did not please her to admit that the High Septon had his reasons for doing what he was. He wanted to protect his people, but he was going about it the wrong way. Manipulating and poisoning the smallfolk against her while she battled her own demons, her own weaknesses. It hadn’t even been a year since she had been crowned, and so much had happened in that time frame. But he had hated her from the beginning, for her womanhood, for her foreignness. He had more or less forced her to marry, because the people did not want another woman ruling, especially a Targaryen who could be mad. Especially a woman that could be like Cersei. He had pushed her hand and stayed it so many times, preventing her from doing what she thought needed to be done, because he did not think the people would be pleased. She had allowed him his army, had allowed him to “protect” the weak, when in fact they had only caused riots and incited the wrath of the smallfolk, making the people think that she was the cause. He had poisoned them, had poisoned her, all while she had been poisoning herself, creating a circle of destruction not only of the kingdoms, but the people, and herself.

“I have asked the gods many times to aid you. To guide you down the path of righteousness, but they never saw fit to do so. I have watched...for so many years...as the people suffered and died while the wealthy grew richer and bolder. While they started wars and massacred the innocent. I have seen many kings and queens...and I had hoped that you would be the last for a very long time. But I learned...and I came to see, that you were just as corrupt as the rest of them.

“You came to conquer, and conquer you did. The blasphemy that occurred in the north is not acknowledged by me, nor the Seven. But the people...they spread their tales, and their songs, and they grew to love you from afar. So I had hoped, deeply...that you would be the one that would change Westeros for the better.”

Dany watched as he came nearer, and his eyes fell upon the corpse of Lady Alestra. He stared at it for some time, but she could not tell what he was thinking. The lines in his face did not so much as twitch.

“I had hoped that you would have married someone not of your near-blood relation, as it is an abomination of the gods. When I had asked you to wed, it was with the hope that it was with our prince here, as he was not so near a blood relation as to concern the gods. He was powerful, and rich, and good. I prayed fervently for days, fasting for so long, for Jon to leave, to never return, to allow Prince Trystane the chance to win your heart.”

Dany sucked in her breath.

“And they answered. Prince Jon left. And Trystane was there, with me guiding him, telling him how to be a good king, what he needed to do to woo you and keep you, so that he in turn may guide you.”

She knew that Jon leaving had not been some mere nudge from the gods to depart. He had left because of his destroyed heart, his battered soul, fighting him when he was still in love with a woman long dead. She had honestly thought that he would never return, and had embraced Trystane to please the people and the High Septon. She had gone to him hurt, and needy, and had been manipulated from the beginning.

“But Prince Jon returned. And you left with him, breaking an engagement that had pleased the gods. You _wed_ a man of your blood, a bastard, in a heathen ceremony. Your marriage was cursed from the beginning, Your Grace.”

She listened, but showed no emotion. It was obvious that he was trying to give her understanding of her shortcomings, of her failings, and why he was doing...whatever this was. So she sat, listened, learned what had brought him to this point.

“When Prince Jon returned, it was as a king, at least in your eyes. And you let him accost Prince Trystane and hold him captive. It was a dire situation that could have caused a war. I was on the brink of demanding his release when you let him go, and he came to me immediately, saying that you were going to give Dorne your firstborn, your heir, to placate your betrayal. But...that wasn’t enough, you see. I knew the truth of your barrenness.”

Dany looked up then. She watched his face, watched as his wrinkled countenance lifted into a bit of a grin, one that did not fit his aged face.

“It all began falling into place, one after another after that. Lady Sansa returning from the Vale, where she had been held by Lord Petyr. A good man, he was. Genius. He kept in constant contact with me. It was I who instructed him to keep Lady Sansa there, as to prevent any more wars. I feared that her mere existence would cause the north to erupt, possibly even the Riverlands. She held too much power.”

Anger seethed so brightly inside her at his words that it took every ounce of strength within her to not fling herself at him and claw him apart. “You...you evil bastard.”

“She was an unfortunate innocent, but there are many innocents in this world, and despite my misgivings, the gods told me that it was for the best. One sacrifice for the good of many, they told me. So Lord Baelish hid her, protected her, as we planned to heal the Seven Kingdoms.”

“He did not protect her!” she screamed, and the babe began to whimper against her breast. Her heart pounded viscously, and she rocked the baby to calm both him and herself.

“Everything that you were told about him was a lie. He was a good, god-fearing man. Lady Sansa lied to you, my queen. She was indeed a whore, a whore that gave herself to his men, trying to be free, and he only punished her as he saw fit, as was needed, to cleanse her. When she escaped, he wrote to me, and I told him to find her and end her wickedness. She was not needed in the scheme of things, I told him. Her death would be for the best.”

_Sansa. You did not deserve what happened to you._ _Years and years of manipulation and suffering. Poor child._

“But she instead managed to kill him and another woman. A murderess, an adulteress, a whore, a liar, a skilled manipulator. The bane of the gods. I demanded Lord Tyrion to hand her over, but he is clever. He did his best to protect her. Said he would hand her over, even managed to get his marriage with her annulled on the grounds of her being a whore. Her sins were so great, the counsel of septons had no problem making Lord Tyrion free.

“But he did _not_ hand her over. I waited. And waited. And yet I waited still. I believed him to be a pious man, a man of his word, but I had been wrong. Then the gods came to me one night, and they told me that her crimes were too many to be free. So I called upon some virtuous men to retrieve her.”

Dany stilled then, her heart nearly stopping. She turned her head and stared at him in disbelief. “No.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Those men were meant to bring her to me, where I would have given her the proper sentence for her crimes. Her crimes of killing innocent people and for being a whore.”

She’d had her misgivings when Lady Sansa had been captured. Hadn’t wanted to believe that it could have been the High Septon of all people, a holy person meant to protect the weak. And weak was Sansa. She had been so utterly destroyed, so betrayed and shattered...she had followed Jon around like a beaten puppy for so long, desperate for his kindness and his protection.

“Lady Sansa was the most innocent, trusting person...she watched her father be killed...was beaten by Joffrey...forced to marry...was sent to the Vale and manipulated and trained and raped and devastated for years...and you _dare_ to say these things?” Dany said, the words stuttering from her mouth in her anger. “Those _things_ you sent after her...they tried to rape her... _again._ Hadn’t she suffered enough? Did she not deserve to just go home?”

The High Sparrow folded his hands behind his back. “Lady Sansa’s past is unfortunate...but she chose her own path. You managed to keep her from my grasp, Queen Daenerys...but in the end, I vowed that I would retrieve the true problem.”

His bare foot nudged Alestra’s body then. He was standing in her congealing blood. “Where Trystane failed, I hoped that this whore would succeed. She was so broken by Lord Tyrion...she was very easily manipulated. All it took was a few days in a cell without food and she poured forth the truth...who she was, what she had been meant to do. She had been sent to kill you, all along. And yet she had fallen in love and abandoned any notion of killing you. It would have been a tale for the ages, if only Lord Tyrion had not so thoroughly broken her heart with his betrayal.”

He turned away and looked at Trystane, who had been silent the entire time. “Her culture is...was...very unique. Tyrion had been married when he had wed her...and it was too much for her. But still, even still, she would not listen. She would not heed my demands, the demands of the gods.”

Dany feared what he would say, and so did not ask. Unfortunately, he continued.

“I ordered her to kill you. But she would not. She refused, despite being tortured to cleanse her soul. And so I threatened the one thing that she loved, the only thing she had left.”

Dany looked down at the babe nestled so sweetly under her filthy dress, and pressed her cheek upon his warm head.

“She listened then. And so it was a waiting game. We waited until she was far enough along to be convincing to everyone, so that she could lure you to her home, where you could be captured. And you fell right into our trap. It was sad, really, that towards the end, she tried to reach Lord Tyrion to tell him that she forgave him, that she loved him, but we intercepted her message. It was only because she was with child, protected by the Mother, that my hand was stayed. But...I see that Prince Trystane did not stay his hand.”

Trystane stood then, and Dany could see fear gather in his russet eyes. The two robed men went on either side of the High Sparrow, who nodded.

The prince was seized, but he did not go down without a fight. Dany watched with dread as he took the knife that she had cut open her friend with, and stabbed one of the men in the neck. The choking and gurgling was horrific, and blood spurted obscenely. The other man grabbed Trystane, but the prince was skilled and had been trained to fight from a young age. He slashed the knife to the side and twisted in the air, but it was not enough to escape the blade in the hands of the acolyte.

The grunt was sad, and Trystane fell to the ground. He was holding his stomach, and she could see in the dim light that he was bleeding.

The robed man stumbled back, and then fell forward, dead. The dirk was still in Trystane’s hand, but there was a clear wet wound in the back of the High Sparrow’s follower.

“Unfortunate,” the High Sparrow said, looking down at Trystane. “You will die, slowly. It will be painful. I shall pray for you.”

Trystane spat at the old man, pushing himself backwards until he was resting against the wall. He was breathing heavily. “You old fuck. Do it yourself! Finish it!”

The age-spotted hands lifted in the air. “You know that I cannot kill you, my son. Only on the orders of the gods would I be able to do such a thing, and they have never asked such a thing of me.”

Trystane spat again, and his lips became speckled with blood. “Liar! The gods do not speak to you! They do not speak to any man! You pompous, lying, worthless—”

“Such foul language, Prince Trystane. You were to be king. You were next in line to the throne, by my orders,” the High Septon said, and Dany felt her eyes narrow.

“So you are planning to kill me,” she said, watching as the old man turned to look at her.

“Not I, my dear. I would not sully my hands in such a way. The original plan was to have Prince Trystane dispose of you, but it seems as if I will have to leave you both here. It will be a time of mourning for the kingdom, yes. But it will usher in a new age. An age of the gods.”

It took but a moment for Dany to understand his intent.

“You mean to crown yourself.”

Trystane burst out laughing, then grunted. “Pathetic old bastard. You have a limited number of years to live. You will die, only to be replaced with another—another king, another queen, who could give a shit less about your gods.”

The High Sparrow made a small hum of amusement. “Yes. Yes, I do have little time left on this plane of existence. But there is another. A child. A child that I could claim, and teach, and raise as my own, as a means to bring the people of Westeros to a place of true holiness, where every man and woman and child lives for the gods and only them.”

An icy hand crept down Dany’s spine then. Her heart began pounding and every beat feeling sickly in her own chest.

“Never,” she said, with so much venom in her voice that he recoiled, but only for the barest moment. He came towards her then, and she tried to back away, tried to escape, but she was already backed into the corner, trapped and helpless. He reached for her, for the babe sleeping against her breast, so sweet and innocent—so she screamed, as loud as she could, until it burned and ached. Until she felt her throat explode in pain, then agony, until it felt like fire was pouring forth, and wetness flecked her lips.

_Fire and blood_ , she thought insanely.

The wooden door exploded behind him. The High Sparrow twisted around, and Dany watched as a white blur leapt through the air. Where a man once stood, his cold hands touching her flesh, now only air remained, and a blood curdling shriek filled the room.

Dany watched with shock as Ghost, who was so huge that his hackles touched the roots in the ceiling, left a moaning body behind, only to turn around and jump upon Trystane. The prince screamed, high pitched and horrible, as Ghost’s jaws enveloped his whole head. Trystane’s body thrashed, his knife searching for purchase. She watched Ghost jolt, and then Trystane’s head was crushed, blood and bone and brain splattering upon the floor and wall, bathing the direwolf’s jaws and chest.

Ghost came back then, his teeth bared and bloody. The High Sparrow was whimpering, his arm and shoulder a sickening mess of mangled skin and gore. Ghost’s maw opened, ready to give the killing blow, when Dany raised her hand.

“No, Ghost. Don’t kill him.”

He watched her with his red eyes, and she stared at him, her throat nearly closing with emotion. When she looked at him, it was almost as if she could see Jon.

It took only a few moments for Ghost to find the keys that Trystane had kept at his side. He brought them to her, and she unlocked her hands and ankles. She shook as she tried to stand, but managed to keep her balance. Her strength was nearly gone, but adrenaline pumped through her veins and she hugged the direwolf tightly, careful of the baby. When she withdrew, she was covered with blood. It was too much to be only Trystane’s.

Tears filled her eyes again, and she swept them away, angry. “No,” she whispered, and Ghost nudged his head against her arm, urging her to hurry. She nodded sadly, clutching the babe to her as she retrieved Trystane’s dirk and went to the still body of the High Sparrow. He was alive, barely. She hoped that he lived for what she had in store for him.

“My vengeance will be the fire that you have always dreaded,” she said firmly, bending down to his body. She sliced away his clothing and began fashioning a sling of sorts for the babe. She had seen many Dothraki women do it in her _khalasar_ , and after a bit of fumbling, it seemed to work. It was precarious, but it would have to do.

With the newborn tucked against her back, she walked outside of the chamber to Ghost, who lay upon the ground, panting. She touched him gently, with wonder, as she began remembering the feel of his fur. She buried her face into the soft tufts by his ear, breathed in the wild scent of him. Jon and Ghost had always smelled like a mix of each other, and it made her throat clog thinking of the man she missed so.

_Jon, if you only knew..._

With no hesitation, she climbed upon his back. Her hands fisted in his long fur with her remaining strength, and she gazed around her, remembering the place. An old, abandoned sept, half-buried in the ground, a tree growing through the roof. She would remember. Yes, she would.

She held on tightly as her husband’s direwolf dove into the night.

 

 

* * *

 


	43. Chapter 43

**Author’s Note** : I didn’t receive much of a response from the last chapter, so I hope everyone read it lol. Double check to make sure you did, as it was completely essential to the story line.

 

For anyone curious as to what happened to Aiur, I just went back through my emails and saw that I had missed an email from him back in June! He is doing well, just super busy with his new baby. Looks like I will be finishing this story without a beta! Hopefully it hasn’t been too terrible :P

 

Please enjoy and review!

 

 

* * *

 

Chapter Forty Three

 

The Lost Queen

 

When the maesters from the Citadel sent out their white ravens declaring that winter was at an end, they had meant the rest of Westeros. Not the north.

Winter always clung much more heartily to the north than anywhere else. Then there would be spring and summer snows every so often. The air was almost never warm—it was always cool and refreshing. It was something that Sansa could remember from her childhood very vividly.

She had been the only child of Eddard and Catelyn Stark to have been born in winter, and in Winterfell. She had never thought of it as something special when she was younger, but now, marching through the waist-high drifts and forcing her mount forward, she felt like she had been born in the winter for a reason.

_I am the blood of Winterfell._

She felt powerful in a way that she never had. She headed the column of thousands of men, men that were _hers._ Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that something like this would happen. She’d had brothers...and she had been such a delicate flower, loving everything that was pretty and dainty. The knights and the stories and the lovers.

So much had changed since she had left Winterfell.

But now she was coming home.

Rickon sat mounted beside her, but she knew in her heart that the men did not follow him. They followed _her._ She gave the command to march, to set camp. She ordered scouts to travel ahead, spies to seek out Winterfell and come back with news. She controlled the paths they followed, the direction they turned. They looked to _her._

It was a hard pace they set, but the men were in better spirits after she had gone among them and spoken to many of them personally. She had given them promises of rebuilding, of homes, of work and food and coinage. She told them of the prosperity that she and Rickon would certify upon their return to Winterfell.

The North would be reborn. She knew it...she would ensure it.

It had only been six days since Jon had left, and although most of her time was full to the brim with her lordly duties, he was not far from her mind. Nor were the deaths of the thousand men that had died from Drogon.

She had wished more than once that Daenerys could have seen what happened. To see what she would have done if she had been in Sansa’s shoes. Would Daenerys stare at the atrocities with horror?

Daenerys had been so good to her, a friend, but it did not stop the fact that she had not been raised in Westeros and that she did not love Jon. She cared for him, yes. She enjoyed her time with him. But their relationship was one of duty, and to hear Jon declare his love for her had destroyed Sansa.

_What would father think if he knew what Jon had done?_

She did not refute what she had said to him. _Never return._ Jon had killed his own people with his dragon, _her dragon,_ and while she knew it had not been of his choice, it was still his responsibility as the dragon’s handler. It was Daenerys’s as well. She would make sure that the crown paid for its damages once she was home.

She wondered if the pain would ever dissipate. She could still imagine herself holding him, her face buried in his neck, and his scent as he comforted her. Even now she drew in a deep breath, almost as if he were there.

But he wasn’t. And she was. Alone.

She would lead these men to Winterfell and recapture her home. She would do everything in her power to reclaim her, and then kill Ramsay Bolton with her own hands, with her own sword.

 

* * *

 

Tyrion

 

“He is resting peacefully now, Lord Hand. I gave him milk of the poppy.”

Tyrion nodded as the maester left.

Just hours before, a cry had gone up that Ser Barristan had been found, nearly dead, in the Kingswood, many miles from King's Landing. A party had been sent to search for him three days before, and he had been discovered lying near a bush, deep into the forest. If it hadn’t been for his loyal horse standing close to its master, he would have never been found.

The old man was resting in his bed, a white sheet and blanket pulled to his chest. His hands sat on either side of him, gnarled and thin. His face was slack, pale, and sagging. His hair was thin, and his pate was spotted.

Barristan was no longer bold. He was old.

The Grand Maester had looked at the Captain of the Queensguard with sadness when he had first arrived at the keep, carried by an Unsullied. Tyrion had only gotten a glance at him before the door had been closed, but he knew that it was dire.

“I have failed, Tyrion.”

Tyrion sat by the edge of the bed on a stool that had been sitting near in the frugal room. His stunted legs cramped in the position, but he ignored the pain. He took Barristan’s hand and held it tightly. The returning grasp was weak.

“You have only ever done your duty, Ser Barristan. Your duty to your family. You honor Queen Daenerys with your faithful service and unswerving dedication to her. You pushed yourself too hard, old friend.”

The smile that Tyrion received showed several missing teeth. He felt his stomach clench. He held his hand tighter, and felt an answering squeeze.

“Has she...been found?” Ser Barristan asked, and Tyrion could see the light of hope in his eyes. The faded blue burned brightly then, and he knew that he could not tell the truth. It would kill him.

“She has. She is home.”

The old man nodded, relief clear upon his face. “I am...glad. She will be...a good queen. Good. But...she needs you. Take care of her...Tyrion.”

Tyrion shook his head as he felt the hand within his slacken. And it was then that he knew.

Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the Captain of the Queensguard, the most honorable man he had ever known, had held on until he had known his queen was safe. Until he could be relieved of his duties.

And Tyrion had lied.

He felt burning tears leak down his scarred face...tears that he had not felt in a very long time.

His family was disappearing, one by one.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys

 

Ghost’s labored breathing went in rhythm with her pounding heart. Her fingers ached and her body struggled to maintain the strength to hold on to him. But still she refused to weaken. She had to get home.

The trees became smears as they dashed by. The infant cried once, twice, and then a third time, mewling softly against her back, but she could not ask Ghost to stop. She knew that he was forcing himself to run, to bear her weight and that of Tyrion’s babe. She could feel the wetness on her leg and knew it to be his blood.

What felt like days was merely hours before she could see the dim light of the city, the torches on the walls burning brightly like beacons through the night, hailing her home.

The gates were locked tight at sunset, and this time was no different. Ghost trotted along the river, and she urged him towards the Mud Gate, closest to the Red Keep. His harsh breathing tore at her, and she stroked his ruff as best she could through her unsteady hold.

“Halt! Who comes to the gate at this hour? State your business!”

She felt her voice break the moment she tried to call out her name, and swallowed thickly, trying to moisten her dry mouth. “It is I, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, and wife to the Prince Who Was Promised. I demand that you raise your gate and allow me entrance.”

The rest was a blur. The moment the gate lifted she felt as if all of her exhaustion, hunger, and weakness collapsed upon her. Men swarmed towards her, and she was barely caught in time as she fell from Ghost’s back.

“Tyrion,” she whispered, and everything dulled into blackness.

 

* * *

 

Jon

 

Drogon’s wings were shredded. He did not know how she was flying. The power in which she beat her arms, in which she pushed herself, was not possible in his mind. The pace was cruel, barbaric, and towards the end, when he saw King's Landing, he felt his heart stutter in his chest at the pain and desperation the dragon was experiencing.

_Almost home, Drogon. Almost. You can do it._

Only a few hours before he had been jolted awake from a restless sleep at a sharp pain in his side. The pain had been intense, so real that he had tasted blood in his mouth. But as fast as it had come, it had disappeared. He tried to reach out to Ghost, to see if he had managed to find Daenerys, but all he got was a darkness that he could not explain. It scared him.

It was night still when the stench of King's Landing reached his nose. He barely noticed it as they flew over the manned walls, as he heard men cry out. From the height he was at, he could see mounted men racing towards the keep.

The Dragonpit was lit up like he had never seen before. Huge green fires burned around it and along ledges, and he saw that the roof and much of the structure had been repaired. There were wooden structures along one side, finishing whatever repairs were still needed. Drogon circled it, slowing her pace and struggling to hover to lower herself down inside. She was just beginning to make her way through the opening when he heard familiar screeches, and couldn’t help but smile tiredly when he saw Rhaegal and Viserion closing in from the distance. They had known their sibling had returned.

Drogon’s relief at landing was palpable. Dragon trainers in their modified Unsullied uniforms came running out, and Jon gave them strict instructions to care for Drogon. She was not moving, and her breathing was incredibly labored. The three dark skinned men before him had wide eyes full of shock at the sight of the monstrous size of Drogon and her condition.

“No one is to know that Drogon is ill and injured. No one.”

They nodded, and immediately set to work.

A mount was available in a new stable that had been raised just inside the pit. Jon declined an escort, as it would take time to saddle and gather men. Most were asleep, as it was the middle of the night. The only ones available were the men standing watch. He thanked them and told them to be vigilant.

The race to the keep was far longer than he could ever remember. The streets were empty except for nightly patrols, but he felt as if he were struggling through crowds of people. The roads lengthened and stretched before him, and no matter how much he pushed his horse, it seemed like it was hours before he reached the gate.

“The king! It’s the king! Raise the gate! RAISE THE GATE!”

The laborious motion of the gate lifting set him on edge. His heart pounded as he listened to the metal grating along stone and steel, and yelled to the gatehouse above, to the men hidden in shadows. “Her Grace! Any word? Have they found her yet?”

A gatehouse guard was suddenly coming out of a postern door, and Jon’s mount danced sideways in fright. The man grabbed the reins and clapped the horse on the neck, steadying the beast. Jon was glad, as he felt his legs shake trying to control his mount. The guard’s voice was low as he spoke, leaning in closely. “Your Grace, it was not but an hour before that Queen Daenerys returned. Very few know, and the keep is in lockdown. You Grace...she did not look good.”

Jon’s mind whirled with the man’s comments, and he did not bother to thank him with words, but merely nodded as the gate lifted enough to clear him. From there, Jon urged his horse through stone pathways, deep into the keep until he was let into Maegor’s Holdfast, each locked door and lowered gate driving his heart to beat unsteady, painful thumps.

By the time he was let into the locked wing where royalty slept, where his and Daenerys’s chambers were, he had an escort of twenty or so Unsullied running behind him, unable to keep his reckless, stumbling pace. He forced himself to push harder, to run faster, and felt his muscles screaming in a way he had not felt in a long time. It was painful, but he did not care.

He stood panting before her door, fearing what he might find. The four Unsullied guarding the elaborate double doors opened them at his nod, and Jon rushed into the dimly lit chamber.

Jon saw a group of people clustered around something on the floor, and saw most notably the Grand Maester, Missandei, and Tyrion. It wasn’t until they parted that he saw her.

Daenerys rose from her position on the floor, and he swore that the painful beating of his heart stopped. Perhaps his heart stopped beating altogether. She shook her head in disbelief, her hands lifting to her lips for the briefest flutter before he heard her cry out.

Then he was running to her. And she to him. And when she was in his arms, he lifted her, held her, clutched her to him as tightly as he could, his hand buried in her knotted hair and his face in her neck. She smelled like dog, earth, and sweat, along with something metallic. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he heard her murmuring to him, but not the words.

It came pouring out of him then, in an unstoppable wave, despite his intentions to wait and talk to her, to make it special.

“Gods, I love you,” he whispered fiercely, and then over and over again, and she began sobbing, both nodding and shaking her head, and when she lifted her head, all he could do was stare into her familiar, dearly missed eyes, their unique, stunning color, and then he felt her lips upon his, and he kissed her with everything he had felt over the moons apart. He showed her how much he loved her in the movement of their mouths, with the intensity in which he clung to her.

When their kiss slowed and they parted, she gazed at him, touched his face, his beard, his eyebrows, and smiled, and then let out a broken laugh.

“How?” she asked, letting her legs slip from around his waist. They were still pressed together, and he found himself unwilling to let her go for even the barest moment. He could see how filthy she was, covered from head to toe in dirt and grime, her hair tangled and caked with dust and sticks and leaves. Her dress, once a lovely combination of rose and white, was blackened and browned and in tatters. The brown had a suspicious tint of red to it, and he completely ignored her question when he saw it.

“Are you harmed? Are you hurt?” His hands began searching her, and she quickly seized them.

A pained expression filled her features, and a sadness crept into her eyes. He searched her face, trying to understand, when she looked down. She did not let go of his hands.

“It’s Ghost, Jon.”

He looked then, to the group of gathered people, some of whom were kneeling beside a large mound on the floor, covered in the crimson blanket Jon knew to have belonged on Daenerys’s bed.

He looked to her then, shaking his head. He felt his throat close, and he choked as he ran and fell beside Ghost.

“No,” he said, and nearly died from relief when the direwolf lifted his head. His red eyes were clouded, and Jon realized then that the pain he had felt hours before had been Ghost.

He swept aside the blanket and saw bandages soaked through with blood, wrapped around his middle. He felt his breathing increase, felt panic’s talons gouge their way into his chest, and knew he was on the brink of falling apart.

“No,” he said again, firmly, refusing to believe what he saw before him. The darkness of their bond was explained then, as Ghost had effectively cut off their connection, not wanting his pain to seep through to Jon. But he knew that he would willingly take any of his pain, do anything, everything, to see the direwolf not suffer in such a way.

_You protected me from the pain. You closed yourself off to me completely. No..._

“We have done everything we can, Your Grace. It will be up to Ghost now, if he makes it.”

Jon looked helplessly up to Grand Maester Hyndyll, shaking his head again. He felt a hand touch his shoulder then, and looked up to see his wife gazing down at him.

“He saved my life, Jon. He saved me and Tyrion’s babe. There is so much I need to tell you...”

The weight of Ghost’s head was suddenly in his lap, and he pressed down on the direwolf’s shoulder as he started struggling to sit up. “No, boy. You rest. You have to get better. You can’t...”

He was silent, as ever, but Jon could see how he felt in his red eyes. He sat back as Ghost stood, and when he was on all fours, Jon stood and wrapped his arms around him. Bigger than ever, the direwolf was now taller than Jon. He had to raise his arms to hug the beast, and he squeezed him hard, until Ghost nudged him with his snout. His nose was dry, not wet, and it took every bit of strength within him to not break apart.

_My rock...my strength...my protector...my brother...my friend._

And then he was overcome with agony.

He ground his teeth together to keep himself from crying out, and could hear Dany ask him what was wrong in the distance, as if she were far away. He heard her order everyone out of the room, as he knew she did not want anyone, even their closest friends and family, to see him weak. The wrong uttered word to the right person could bring about disaster.

Just as quickly as it happened, Jon’s pain disappeared. He drew in a sharp breath and looked up at Ghost, understanding then.

“We have to go.”

Daenerys blinked, then frown and shook her head. “What? No. Of course not. I forbid it.”

“I...I did something terrible, Daenerys. I told Ghost to find you...to save you...to abandon his family. But he remembers.”

Her vivid eyes began watering. As a woman he knew not to cry very often, he could not blame her. Everything was too much. “He...has a family?”

He turned to her, gathered her in his arms. She tilted her chin upwards, as if expecting a kiss, but he only traced the outline of her lips with his finger. They stood there for several minutes, just holding each other and touching each other, quietly.

“I will return. I promise.”

She placed her head upon his chest, rested it there, and then nodded. “Go.”

 

* * *

 

Daenerys

 

Grand Maester Hyndyll carefully rewrapped Ghost’s bandages and made them extra thick. Jon’s horse, Blackie, a leftover from his years in the Night’s Watch, was packed with food, water, and supplies, along with anything he might need for Ghost, including milk of the poppy. The Grand Maester said that the medicine had never been tested on animals, but it was worth a try if Jon thought the direwolf needed it to ease his suffering.

She watched the agony on Jon’s face as Ghost walked slowly through the halls and to the stables. Blood sluggishly bloomed on his bandages, and she knew Jon was struggling. She could see his shaking hands, could see the pallor of his face. His eyes kept darting back and forth, lingering on Ghost constantly, before he finished whatever task he was working on.

She wanted to touch her husband, to be near him, to feel him against her and to talk to him for hours. She wanted his comfort and his love, his love that he had so ardently declared to her and that had been so unknowingly desired.

But it was all being pushed to the side in the wake of his arrival. Jon returning within only an hour of her own had been overwhelming, and she had not processed any of her own troubles with the worries of a newborn, an injured direwolf, and the loss of her most beloved Queensguard...

Missandei pressed a cup of water into her hands for the third time in as many minutes, and she gave her a small amused smile. She had given little thought to her own condition since she had been back, and it was comforting to know that someone cared enough to do so for her. Missandei had scurried to and fro in her chambers, back and forth to the Grand Maester’s quarters, all to make sure Dany was cared for. Water, wine, balm for her cracked lips, cloths to wipe her face and arms, she even tried to remove her garments and change her, but Dany had shooed her as she had sat by Ghost, watching the Grand Maester begin to tend to him.

When she had returned with the aid of her city watchmen, she had cried immediately for the Grand Maester and Tyrion. Tyrion had been, and still was, in shock over the situation. He had not uttered another word from his clever mouth since he had seen her, clasped her hands, and said, “Thank all the gods in existence.” He then hugged her tightly, and she felt her throat clog with emotion.

When she had handed him the tiny babe wrapped in the High Sparrow’s filthy smock, Tyrion’s hands had grasped him awkwardly, as if he had never held a baby before. His mismatched eyes had searched her face, and she had known that he had seen her sorrow. He knew that Alestra was gone.

The Grand Maester had immediately sent out word for a wet nurse and examined the child, but Dany had gone off to care for Ghost, and so shortly after Ghost had been given treatment, Jon had arrived. The Grand Maester had barely finished wrapping the bandages around the direwolf before the beast had gotten up and decided to leave.

She felt overcome and devastated. Missandei stayed close as Dany watched Jon pack his horse with essentials and then go to Ghost. Jon wasn’t in the habit of petting the direwolf, but he did now, and would not stop touching him, whether it was rubbing his ears or patting him or just resting his hands on him. She could clearly see the bond between the two, a bond that had only grown since she had known Jon, and she ached inside at the distress Jon was experiencing. She hoped against hope that Ghost would survive.

“I need to hurry. I don’t know...”

Daenerys nodded as Jon mounted. Through the doors of the keep stables she could see the sun rising. Four Unsullied guards were going with him, but were instructed to stay back. Jon did not want to deal with interference.

He took her hand and rubbed it gently. “There are so many things that we need to speak of.”

She nodded, taking his hand and pressing it against her cheek. It was ungloved, and she could feel the scars upon his skin from the burns he had suffered so long ago. “So much,” she said, and had to fight the tears threatening to overflow.

He leaned down, and she could tell that it was a struggle for him to stay ahorse. Whatever had happened to him had left his body weaker, just like her own. She hoped he would drink and eat during his travels with Ghost to regain some energy.

“I would have told you sooner in different circumstances...and for that I am sorry. You must go to Drogon, Daenerys.”

A sick feeling hit her stomach. She felt an anxious frown touch her brows, and her hold tightened on his hand. “What do you mean?” His low tones spoke of secrecy, and she darted her eyes around quickly to see if anyone was listening. There were only sleepy stablehands about, her most trusted Unsullied, and friend Missandei, standing nearby.

“Drogon is...hurt.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “My child...will she live?”

The look on his face was not reassuring. She felt her hand release his. “I must go to her immediately.”

He nodded. She felt like he wanted to say more, but she saw the hesitation on his face. Then his features softened. “Wait for me.”

A smile wanted to tug at her lips, but the sorrow of the moment was too much to bring it to the surface. “Always.”

She watched as Ghost prodded forward, not quite at a trot, and Jon followed slowly behind. His escort guided him through the huge stables, and she watched until the gates closed behind him, her hand on the growing swell of her belly. She was so thankful Jon had not noticed before he had left.

She closed her eyes.

_Both of you come back to me._

 

* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : As always, please review! What do you think is going to happen? I love hearing from you!


	44. Chapter 44

**Author’s Note** : Don’t kill me...  


Credit for beta-ing goes to smolengineer. Thank you for reading and messaging me perverted Jon/Dany smut <3

 

* * *

 

Chapter Forty Four

Tyrion

“Where is Queen Daenerys?” he demanded, as the Unsullied soldier approached. The man went to one knee and bowed his head. He spoke in garbled Westerosi, but Tyrion got the gist.

“She in Dragonpit. Visit Drogon.”

He huffed with irritation. Daenerys was with child, clearly had not eaten or been hydrated properly in her sennight away, and was in deplorable condition. She had not been examined by the Grand Maester, and the city was still full of unrest. He was not comfortable with her not being in the keep.

“Go to her. Demand that she return. There is no time for foolishness. She needs to be _here_.”

The man nodded and ran off.

Tyrion felt his mind return to the Tower of the Hand, where his new son was resting, and on last word from Missandei, well fed, clean, and in the arms of a wet nurse who was big-breasted and amazingly loving.

He had not the time to think of Alestra and her absence. What it might mean. What it did mean.

Tyrion kept himself busy. He strode back and forth through Maegor’s Holdfast, strolled the walls around the Red Keep, talked to the watch and made sure things were locked tight. He went to the stables, hoping to meet the queen there, but she did not return. He walked back and forth and back and forth until his back and legs cramped, and still she did not return.

Frustrated, he demanded a palanquin and was leaving the safety of the keep within a few minutes. The streets were less restless than they usually were, and for that he was thankful. He attributed that to a certain missing presence.

It had been quite the fight with the religious fanatics, but they went down easily enough. They were poorly armed, and when pressed, they quickly threw down their weapons. Many were currently in the dark cells, awaiting punishment. Many had also fled, and he hoped that they would turn their lives around and become productive members of the city.

The Dragonpit was lit day and night with huge fires fed by wildfire, supplied by the Alchemist’s Guild. It was also heavily protected, surrounded with a new wall and manned with Unsullied. Reconstruction and repairs were almost finished, and would more than likely be completely within a fortnight.

He was allowed within the gates and left his palanquin, where he then waddled his way through the cavernous building. There were cells for dragons, a huge opening for their movements and training, and then the underground area, where it was whispered that dragons would roost and lay eggs in secret.

Tyrion had always been fascinated with the beasts, and had always been amazed with Daenerys’s three children. He had even ridden Viserion on several occasions, in battle and in travel. But it had been many moons since he had last been close to one.

Their heat was always intense, and this time was no different. When he walked into the underground area, what he saw was both disturbing and astounding.

Drogon lay on the ground, the fiery red orbs of her eyes closed. She breathed laboriously, and Tyrion noted with dismay that her condition was very poor. Her wings were in tatters, and a sickly green oozed from her nose.

And beside the dragon, sat Daenerys, leaning against Drogon’s chest, asleep.

He did not want to wake her. She was beyond exhaustion, no doubt. But he would rather her be safely ensconced in the castle, and observed by professionals. She needed care, and that would not happen here.

Her eyes were bleary and red when they opened at his gentle touch. He was sure the concern on his face showed, and she nodded, as if understanding what he wanted. He helped her up as best he could, and noted that her waist was clearly thicker and rounder. She would not be able to hide her pregnancy any longer, despite the best designed dresses.

“Come,” he said, and led her away.

 

* * *

 

Jon

 

Ghost’s agonizing steps had him in a state of dread he had never before felt.

The months of war, the losses of his friends, deaths of tens of thousands of people, none of it compared. Even when he had been sucked into the dark abyss of depression and anxiety over losing the woman he loved, over leaving his homeland and everything he knew and living in King's Landing, it did not compare. It did not compare to the time when Daenerys had asked him to wed her out of duty, and forcing himself to do it for the people and the realm. The months of inactivity, of just having his mind destroy itself over what he had gone through, what he had seen, what he had suffered...none of it compared to watching his best friend in the whole world dying with every step he took.

Ghost had been there when _no one else had been._ He had been the only thing in his world for so long, and even through the years, when there had been others, Ghost had stood steadfastly by his side. He had saved Jon’s life innumerable amount of times, especially during the Great War. He had been his ultimate comfort, always quiet, always consoling just by merely standing there, with Jon’s hand resting on him, just needing him to be near. Ghost had been the one to calm his shaking hands, to quiet his riotous mind.

More than once the direwolf stopped, and Jon could see and nearly feel the unbearable pain he was experiencing. It was only an hour or so after leaving the confines of King's Landing that Jon had watched him slow, and then halt. He had jumped down from Blackie immediately, rushing over to Ghost to see what was wrong. When he had noticed that the bandages were dark red, he had to force the tears to stay at bay.

With the help of the Unsullied guards, Jon used the supplies the Grand Maester had given him and changed the bandages. He did his best to not stare at the wound in his direwolf’s side. After he was done, he forced open Ghost’s muzzle and dripped some milk of the poppy into his mouth. The direwolf had given him a look of irritation, and then disgust when he tasted the medicine. Ghost could have bitten him for all he cared; he just could not stand to see him in such a way.

Ghost’s pace picked up shortly after that. Jon could tell the milk was working, and thanked the old gods.

The Unsullied were left behind in the distance as Ghost hurried through the trees and underbrush. Jon could see the pain was dulled, but knew by the direwolf’s occasional wobble that things were not well. He talked to him, about anything and everything, not caring if the Unsullied caught wind of the words. He spoke to Ghost of the past, asked him questions as if he would answer, discussed the future. Anything to distract the beast from the pain, anything to feel the connection that he had missed in the moons he had been gone.

Ghost was still blocking him, but being this close, Jon could feel slight tendrils from him now and then, whether it was pain or his animal thoughts. He cherished every moment.

Ghost’s steps began slowing again after a few hours, and Jon felt a great stab of pain when he did. Gasping, he urged his direwolf to stop, to accept the milk of the poppy again, to allow him to change his bandages, but Ghost bared his teeth at him. He had never done such a thing before, but Jon felt no fear. He could only honor his friend’s wishes.

His slow walk took them into thick, prickly underbrush under huge towering trees deep into the Kingswood. Blackie shied and danced, and Jon knew that the horse could go no further or face injury. He left his mount with the four Unsullied, feeling a sense of urgency from Ghost. He knew he had to hurry, but he did not know why.

He felt the painful pulling of the branches and brush but cared not. Ghost bandages tore away, and Jon could see glimpses of dark red congealed blood. The thick liquid leaked upon the ground and rotting leaves, the wound no longer protected.

“Ghost, no! Stop! Stop now! To me!”

But he was not heeded. Ghost’s nose lifted into the air then, and he stopped. Jon fought forward, finally unsheathing his sword in an attempt to cut through. The magical fire upon the blade did not burn the branches, but he barely noticed.

Ghost disappeared from sight suddenly, and Jon panicked. He began wildly hacking at the bushes and low hanging branches, trying to gain sight again, when he heard the most mournful howl he could have ever imagined. He felt his stomach drop.

Ghost had never uttered a single sound in his life until that moment.

He chopped and slashed violently, his breathing coming in short gasps as he felt fear and desperation dig into his chest. The weakness of his body was forgotten in his need to reach Ghost, and it was almost an accident when he stumbled into the small grassy opening between the trees, for he had not seen it.

He sucked in his breath.

Ghost stood next to a corpse, skinned from head to toe. The body was an animal, four legged, and huge. The meat had been left behind—whoever had killed the beast had killed it for its pelt.

Ghost lay down next to the body, and it was then that Jon knew.

It was his mate.

A broken sound escaped Jon, and he fell to his knees next to his direwolf. He buried his face in his neck, where the fur was still pure and white, and held onto him tightly, not knowing what else to do.

He did not know how long they sat there, mourning the loss of the female direwolf. He could only think of the reports the small council had received on several occasions, of direwolves being spotted in the Neck and the Riverlands. It appeared that they had spread even so far south as the Kingswood now.

Jon stood then, and walked back to the opening he had cut through in the trees. He waited for a few moments, just watching as Ghost looked down upon the skinned body, until he knew they could wait no longer. They needed to treat his friend before it was too late.

“Ghost, to me.”

The direwolf look up at him, but did not move towards him. Instead, he turned in another direction, and was lost to view.

Jon gave chase. The adrenaline from earlier had waned, and he felt exhausted. He stumbled through the brush, calling for Ghost as if he would answer.

Ghost didn’t, but something else did.

Tiny noises began reaching his ears, and he headed in their direction. The sounds soon became clear, and it was when he heard the tiny howls that his bleary mind remembered.

_His mate had whelped._

He burst into another small clearing, only large enough for a hole in a large dirt and rock mound and an area to take but a few steps before being enveloped by trees again. And near the opening were two pups, their tails tucked between their legs, howling.

Ghost was nowhere to be found. Jon knelt near the pups, heard their little yelps, and picked up one that was eerily familiar.

Pure white.

But when Jon turned the pup, it was not red eyes that stared back at him, but a soft grey. He smiled at the wriggling thing, setting it back down just in time to see Ghost emerge from the hole, another pup in his mouth.

Jon’s direwolf disappeared again, returning with a fourth, and final pup. Ghost then lay upon the ground, and the pups began yelping and jumping on him, despite the wound in his side. Jon sat nearby, afraid to interfere with such a moment, but content to watch something so simple yet beautiful. He had never imagined that he would see such a thing—that Ghost would be a father. It made his heart swell.

The pups began whining and whimpering then, and Jon wondered how long they had been without their mother and without food. By the state of the body, it could have only been one or two days. They looked old enough to be near weaning, but were not able to hunt or survive without a parent. He wished he had brought his saddlebag then, as it had contained some dried meat.

However the whining continued. And Ghost did not move.

Jon felt his eyes begin to water, but he did not understand why. He crawled towards his friend, uncaring of the pups as he sat beside the direwolf.

Ghost’s eyes were glassy, staring into nothingness. His chest did not lift or fall. He was no longer breathing.

“No,” Jon said. “No.”

He shook his head, took his hands and grabbed handfuls of fur. He shoved, he pulled, he cried...but Ghost did not move.

“NO!” he screamed, painful, tearing sobs wrenching their way from his chest. “No! You can’t leave me! You TRAITOR!” Anguish unlike anything he had ever known consumed him, and he felt like he was dying inside. He fell upon Ghost and wept, wailing into the body of his best friend. He cried and cried until everything burned, and then just screamed when the tears ran dry and his body felt like a husk. He screamed until his throat was raw, until he could barely breathe, and then he just lay there, wanting to die, no longer wanting to live in a world where Ghost was not in his heart, mind, or soul.

He felt dead. The only thing that told him he was alive was the feeling of Ghost’s drying blood upon his hands and clothes.

When he sat up some time later, the pups were laying by his leg, curled up together and asleep. He wanted to hate them, wanted them to go away, but instead, his shaking hands reached out and touched them. He felt their coats, still soft from being so young. He knew the fuzz would soon turn thicker, coarser. He remembered it from so many years ago.

He gazed down at Ghost and somehow felt his eyes water again. He didn’t think it was possible after what had just poured from him.

He rested his hand upon his direwolf’s head, near his ear. He petted him, thinking of how Ghost’s last moments had been of sorrow, of pain, but how he had led Jon to his pups and saved them. He had used the last of his strength to bring him there and rescue them, and had passed away knowing that they were safe.

It hurt to stand. It hurt to move. But he forced himself to do it.

He did not know where the strength came from, for only moments before it had been gone. But he searched until he found a large flat rock, and began digging.

He dug for hours. Dug until his hands burned and then blisters began forming. And then he kept digging still, until he felt his flesh turn bloody. Dirt filled his wounds, stung painfully, but it did not matter.

It was well into the night when he finished digging the graves. They were shallow, not what he would have wanted, but he could not leave Ghost and his mate without proper burial.

He buried her first, as she was not far away from the den. She was smaller, but still huge in comparison to normal wolves. It pained him to see her in such a state, and hoped that she had not suffered long. He even thought of how she had probably saved her pups, tried to lead the poachers away, and had died fighting them off. It must have been many men for her to have fallen.

When he returned to the pups, he made sure all four were still there and then looked down at his best friend. He stared at him, felt his body tremble, felt as if his heart had stopped beating, and tried to keep himself together for what he had to do.

It was the hardest thing he ever did, pushing Ghost into his grave. The weight of the beast didn’t compare to knowing that his friend really was gone, and he would never see him again.

The bugs and nocturnal animals hummed and chirped as he rose from the dirt mound. It was dark still, but Jon could see well enough. He stood there, his mind blank, unwilling to think.

The pups were gathered in his arms shortly after that, and their weight made his limbs shake. He forced himself to walk, to bear their weight, and did his best to move through the night and the path he had left behind in his hurry to follow Ghost. They wriggled and squirmed, but eventually all four ended up laying awkwardly in the curve of his arms, and fell back asleep. He gritted his teeth and thought of anything but the ache in his muscles and heart.

In the end it was the smell and sight of a fire that brought him to where he needed to be. The first fingers of morning were gracing the sky with their beautiful delicate colors of peach and lilac. He felt nothing towards it, as he normally would. He could not appreciate anything in this world as it stood now.

The four Unsullied stood and bowed when he came through the brush. They asked no questions, said no words, but he could see their inquiring looks. They were looking for Ghost.

He handed them the pups and mounted Blackie. He did not remember anything after that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Author’s Note** : Out of everything that I have read in the books, watched in the series, written in my own stories...this was the hardest thing I have written...


	45. Chapter 45

**Author’s Note** :  A long chapter that I hope makes up for the sadness of the last.

 

Thank you to smolengineer <3

 

* * *

 

Chapter Forty Five

 

Daenerys

 

The city watchman sent ahead to announce that the king had returned had her jumping out of her chair. It had been far too long for him to have made a simple trip.

The apprehensive feeling she had in her gut did not bode well.

It was now well over a day since he had left, and she’d had a chance to bathe, eat well, and rest somewhat peacefully, knowing that her husband would be home soon. She’d even been able to help Tyrion with some of the issues in the city and kingdoms, although he had only handed her a few pieces of correspondence, not wanting to stress her overly. She had appreciated him easing her back into the burdens of the crown, and had thanked him kindly. She had also brought up something she knew he was afraid to speak of.

“When you are ready, we can talk.”

His nod had been brief, and his face pallid as he hobbled away. She received updates of his son every few hours, and they were all very rewarding and gave her a sense of relief. Her suffering, and that of Alestra’s, had ended up working out in the end. She just hoped that Tyrion was not ruined from it all. He deserved to have a woman that loved him. Maybe that could be something they worked on in the future. But for now, she hoped that his newborn son was a balm to his hurting heart.

One of the most important issues they dealt with during their meeting had been that of Trystane and the High Sparrow. Somehow, someone under Tyrion’s employ had brought back the pair, Trystane’s body long stiff and the High Sparrow barely alive and naked. He was currently under the treatment of the Grand Maester, and Dany had ordered him to do everything to keep him alive. She needed him alive...

But now all of her thoughts were turned to Jon. Missandei, her guards, and two of her Dothraki handmaidens followed her, and she felt herself chewing on her lip and fussing over her clothing. She wondered if Jon would notice the swell of her belly, as she had not hidden it. She had decided to announce the pregnancy after Jon knew, and as there were already whispers, it would not be a surprise. But still, she wanted him to know from her, not some courtesan.

_Or one of those vile women still at court hoping to sink her claws into him..._

She had taken more pains with her appearance than usual, but not only because of Jon. After her treatment and subsequent deprivation of food and water, not to mention her depression and other problems stemming from Jon’s absence, she had lost more weight than she would have liked. It was something Grand Maester Hyndyll had spoken to her of, along with Tyrion, Missandei, and Ser Barristan. It had all floated away on deaf ears.

She normally would have waited for him at the entrance to the Red Keep, but now was not the right time. They had so many personal issues and things to speak of, Daenerys knew that it would be best for him to come directly to her, in Maegor’s Holdfast, near their chambers.

It took longer than she hoped, and her nerves were on edge. She felt her queenly demeanor falter, and she fidgeted her hands more than once. Missandei kept glancing at her, and she knew that her once-lover and dear friend was worried. Missandei had been hovering over her like a mother duck, offering her food and tasty morsels, different wines and water to quench her thirst. In less than two days, Dany was sure that she had eaten more than she ever had in a week.

When the doors were shoved open, she saw a man drawn, ashen, and filthy. His shoulders were hunched, his head was down, and he looked...defeated.

She must have made a noise involuntarily, for he looked up, and was surprised to see her. He stood there, much too far away, and fear, sadness, and despair overwhelmed her all at once. She wanted to say the words, but dared not to. For the presence missing by his side spoke volumes.

She strode to him, quickly, and was welcomed into his arms with a harsh, thick sound that she knew was a suppressed sob. She clutched him to her, wishing that she were stronger, taller, so that she could embrace him more fully, but he did not seem to mind. In fact, she was suddenly lifted into his arms, her feet off the ground, and she buried her face into the dirty hair near his neck. She allowed herself only that moment, that cherished moment, before she lifted her head and gave orders.

“I require a bath to be drawn. Food and wine. Otherwise, do not disturb us,” she said, and everyone knew what she meant. The king and queen were not to be bothered unless it was the end of the world or they called for help.

She heard Missandei quietly instruct everyone away, and Dany clung to her husband, felt his quaking arms, and could not wait to be in the privacy of their rooms.

He went to his chambers, which they normally preferred in their time together. He carried her straight to his bed, where he deposited her gently. He immediately pulled away, and began divesting himself of his soiled clothes. There was a timid knock upon the door, and Jon’s gruff voice called for them to enter. Men began carrying in large pails of steaming water and women scurried around lighting the fire in the hearth and candles about the room. She could hear movements in the antechamber, more than likely servants leaving nourishment and wine for them later.

Once everything was quiet and they were left alone, she observed her husband and did not speak. She waited for him.

He was standing in his breeches and boots, his sword and other garments tossed to the side. Light danced across his skin, and she saw that he was thinner than his usual leanness. His hands, filthy though they were, were pressed into his face, in the shape of claws, as if he wanted to rake his nails down his skin. She heard a strangled noise from him, and then it all came bursting out.

“He’s gone,” he said, his voice raw. Tears gathered in her eyes and fell—it was the confirmation she had feared. Her chest constricted, and she felt the baby move inside her. It was a gentle reassurance that not all was wrong with the world.

“He knew he was dying. He _knew it,_ Daenerys. But it didn’t matter. He only had one destination in mind. He brought me to his mate. She was dead. Skinned alive. And...and his last act was to bring me to his pups. Four of them. He...he laid down, let them play on him...and he died. He just _died._ He didn’t...he didn’t do _anything_...look at me, or try to tell me...nothing...I didn’t even know it until the pups started crying.”

“Jon...”

“I buried them. I couldn’t bury them together. They were too heavy. I was too exhausted, too weak.”

She shook her head and reached out her hand. She wanted to touch him, but she was afraid he would shy from her. He would come to her if he wanted her, at least she hoped.

“You just went through the seven hells, Jon. You can’t blame yourself.” She paused, suddenly uncertain, but forced herself to speak. “Ghost...he saved me. He...he saved more than one life that day.”

He lifted his head, and she could see the tears reflected on his cheeks in the dim light.

“I don’t understand,” he said, and she could hear how tired and defeated he was in those words. She stood then, deciding that she had waited long enough for him to come to her. She had waited an eternity to tell him this news. He needed this. They needed this.

"Alestra...she betrayed me, betrayed _us,_ but I was able to save Tyrion's son. Ghost saved their son...saved me..." Daenerys trailed off, gently took his hands and turned them palm up. She placed them on the underside of her swelling belly and held them there. She watched his face, saw the darkness fade and awe take its place. "And he saved our babe."

She could see tears fill his eyes once more, and she saw that he was unashamed to let them fall. He swallowed hard, and then embraced her tightly. He smelled to the high heavens, had undoubtedly ruined her dress and hair, but she cared not one bit. All that mattered was this one moment.

He suddenly lifted her, and they both laughed as he twirled her around his bedchamber. When he set her down, he cupped her face and looked down at her, wonder etched upon his dark features.

“I don’t think I’ve heard news this good in a long, long time,” he said quietly, and she stretched up on her tip toes to press her lips to his.

“I love you, Jon Targaryen,” she whispered, stroking his hair. The sadness of moments ago was gone, replaced with a happiness she had not felt in years.

He pressed his forehead to hers and placed his hand behind her neck, pulling her closer. She could feel her belly push into him, and his free hand reached down to caress it.

“And I love you both,” he said, sending her heart soaring.

 

* * *

 

 

They spent the next hour in his marble pool, with her washing every inch of him. She even took shears to his hair and beard, and they both laughed as she snipped away mounds of curls and trimmed his beard. She treated his wounds on his hands with an herbal ointment, bathing the cuts he had gotten from digging the graves. Those hands were never far from the swell of her stomach despite the pain in them however. He stroked and touched her as they spoke of the future and their child in between laughs and kisses, tears and sadness.

For the next few hours, she felt like she was a normal person, not the monarch of the Seven Kingdoms. She walked naked from his bedchamber and brought back food and wine from the other room, where they dined on decadent treats and snuggled in bed. They napped for several hours, curled up together, and then awoke with smiles on their faces. She could see an enormous change in Jon as he relaxed, drank, and ate, and soon she felt his hands wandering to more places than just her belly. She giggled at his lasciviousness, and then moaned as his fingers found her sensitive breast.

“They’re bigger,” he said, a hint of wickedness in his voice. He proceeded to bury his face in them, and she ran her fingers through his soft hair as he enjoyed himself.

“And they will only get bigger,” she promised him, smiling as he looked up at her, and then she threw back her head and laughed at the naughty look her gave her. “I never knew that the king of Westeros was capable of such mischievous behavior.”

His hands strayed down her sides, trailing over her ribs in a way that tickled her. She burst into giggles, trying to squirm away, but he ended up pulling her naked form tightly against him, leaving her breathless.

“I look forward to showing you every side of me until we die of old age in our bed, our toes curled after we have fucked each other senseless.”

She made a humming sound in pleasure and ran her hand down his back, until she grabbed his arse. “Let us start that senseless fucking now.”

He kissed her hard, and she opened her mouth wide, wanting him to devour her. His hands and lips were everywhere, and she was quickly gasping and needy. She had forgotten over the moons apart how fast Jon could have her panting for him, how wild she could become from his merest touch. She bucked against him, wanting him inside her desperately, but he would not enter her.

“Make love to me, Jon. Please,” she begged, her head thrashing on the bed as he continued his torture. She felt him shake his head against her belly, and then gasped when he shoved her legs wide. She watched him take two of his fingers and wet them in his mouth, and writhed in anticipation for where those fingers were going. She threw back her head and moaned loudly, harshly, when he shoved them inside her.

“I’m not going to last long, Daenerys. I need you to come first,” he said, his voice thick with desire. She could see the flush upon his cheeks, see how his eyes had darkened in the low light. His fingers moved quickly inside her, and then he shifted lower, so his mouth could claim her where she wanted it most.

She cried out, her back bowing off the bed. A few hard flicks of his tongue had her shuddering and coming undone, and she felt her body flood with rapturous sensation. Her hands fisted in his hair as she screamed, as he kept going, his movements unceasing as he tried to get her to peak again.

“No,” she cried, unable to bear the feeling, but then her body was shaking again, and she was that uninhibited woman that she had missed so, wild in her husband’s arms, falling apart and coming back together again as he made love to her in ways that she had never known or could understand.

Then he was inside her, his hard thrust filling her, making her moan uncontrollably. She dug her nails into his back, wrapped her legs around him, and held on as he pounded into her desperately, seeking the same completion that he had given her.

He had been right—he did not last long. It was only a few seconds before he was grunting, and then groaning, and she smiled as she watched the muscles in his chest and arms tighten, as his throat worked, and then held him close when he collapsed on her.

She felt soft, gentle in a way that she had not felt in so long. She had almost forgotten she had ever felt such a way.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she could hear the hint of sheepishness in his voice. She tried to think of why he was apologizing, and then realized that it was because he had never had a problem lasting long enough to fuck her thoroughly. There had one or two times where it had not lasted very long, but he was always very meticulous in his loving of her, no matter what.

She stroked his forehead, then his brows. “You should never apologize for making me this happy,” she whispered, startled when she felt tears brim in her eyes. She swallowed, trying to fight them, but they fell from the corners. His fingers found the trails and wiped them away.

“You are so beautiful,” he said softly, and she stared at him, still so shocked that he was where he was. He still had to explain so much, but they had forever. They had healing and loving to do, a kingdom to rule and people to help. On the morrow, they would begin anew, as a king and queen in love, not together for duty, but together for affection and passion and devotion.

Dany could not think of anything else that their kingdom needed more.

 

* * *

 

The Lost Queen

 

She strained her eyes through the distance and snow, but she could see her.

_Winterfell._

There was a painful lump in her throat, and no one dared speak as she gazed upon her home. She was thankful for the silence.

It was different, but not unrecognizable. She could see damages that had not been repaired, and some things that were new. As they were coming from the north, she could see the north gate, and near it, something was missing. It took her a moment to realize that it was the First Keep, the keep that had been built when the Andals had invaded Westeros. It was completely gone.

The broken tower, once Winterfell’s tallest watchtower, looked to have been repaired. She remembered Septa Mordane speaking of it, how it had been struck by lightning and then never fixed. It appeared as if the Bolton’s had taken it upon themselves to do so.

Reports told that there were ballistae upon the walls, which made her think of the dragon that was supposedly in their arsenal. Let Ramsay think they still had it. They had also discovered that there were also pits dug before the walls, filled with spikes and buried under the snow. They had only found out from a scout falling into one. He had been impaled through the leg, then pulled out by another scout. The man had died the next day.

And then, a horror obviously meant to frighten and intimidate, and a sign of just the type of monster Ramsay was...

The count was one thousand bodies, flayed in the tradition of the Bolton’s. They were mounted on crosses, and frozen from the freezing winds of the north.

They all wore the surcoats of Highgarden.

Margaery’s tears had torn at a part of Sansa that she still fought to bury. The part that wanted to hate her and everyone else. Margaery cried for Lady Olenna, her beheaded grandmother, and for her cousin Megga and her unknown whereabouts. And then she cried for the thousand men that had been slaughtered all in the name of deception and greed...

Margaery had found her in her tent shortly after Sansa had retired. The quiet way she snuck under the fabric of the tent had disturbed Sansa, but did not surprise her. She had been queen in a castle filled with spies...it did not shock her that Margaery was capable of her own subterfuge.

They stared at each other for a long time. Sansa’s hand subtly moved closer to the dirk at her leather belt, but the Maid from Highgarden only watched her.

Then the older woman began to sob.

“All of this...all of this is my fault. Because I wanted to be queen. Because I saw Jon as a different kind of man, a man that was good...I saw my chance and took it. All it took was for grandmother and I to talk to Lord Tyrion, and he had us on our way. I fell in love with the idea of Jon, of this person that was from the songs and histories we loved as girls, of this man that saved us all from a great enemy. I knew he would be the best king we’ve had for centuries...and I wanted to be part of that. I wanted my name to be next to his, next to Daenerys’. It didn’t matter that I was going to be a brood mare. I could still do great things...”

Sansa couldn’t believe all of this was pouring out of her. It all made sense, though. It was exactly the type of person Margaery was. She had always wanted to be queen.

“We marched through the south, through the Riverlands, then through the Neck to White Harbor, where all of it was to fall into place perfectly. I was going to trick Ramsay into thinking he was marrying me, and it would be an ambush...or something, I don’t know. Either way he was going to die. But then I became scared...and grandmother decided I was too valuable to risk such a thing, and Megga, my sweet Megga, she volunteered. She just wanted to be loved, I knew it. She wanted to be important in grandmother’s eyes. We sent all of our men with them...all of them are dead because of me...”

“The thousand men that died in Drogon’s inferno are also dead because of Jon. My men.”

Margaery’s sniffles stopped then, and her face hardened into something ugly, vicious. It startled Sansa.

“Jon is not the man I thought him to be. He abandoned his home, his people, and this cause. He let his dragon kill his own men. He left you here, and I know...I know that you love him, Sansa...”

She stiffened. “Loved him. He is barred from my heart.”

A knowing smile brightened the darkness that had filled Margaery’s face. “You can tell yourself that, my sweet friend. But it will take many moons, many years even, before he is completely gone from your mind, heart, and soul. Despite what he has done...you still think of him, don’t you?”

Sansa turned, lest Margaery see the tears that threatened to fall. “Leave. Please.”

But she felt fingers curl around her arms, and she glanced over her shoulder. Margaery’s soft brown eyes were also watering.

“Let us cry together. For what we have lost. For what we might yet win. As old friends.”

Sansa felt her lower lip tremble, and she turned to that old friend and hugged her.

They both released a torrent of pain into each other’s shoulders that night.

 

* * *

 

 

A siege of Winterfell was not what she had wanted, but that’s what it came down to.

It was weeks of testing each other, of Ramsay trying to trick her and her men. But while he was evil and conniving, he did not realize who he was going against...nor that she wanted Winterfell more than him.

She had been manipulated, raped, tortured, and betrayed...but she had also learned from it all. She had been taught by Petyr Baelish in the ways of how to use her mind, of how to exploit others, to control others and use it to her advantage.

And that’s what she did.

She did not care how long Ramsay had lived in Winterfell. It was her home, and she knew all of its secrets. She used those to her advantage, and made Ramsay think she was weak.

She tested the walls and the men guarding them. They poured arrows and oil down, and Sansa smiled as they wasted their weaponry on her well-armored men. There were very few casualties.

That continued for quite some time. And while she was wasting his food and his arrows, she was digging under the unguarded wall in the godswood.

No one would suspect something like that, she knew. So she knew Ramsay watched, watched and saw that it looked like her army was slowly shrinking, slowly abandoning her. And then Ramsay took advantage of her and entered the field of battle.

He had more men than she anticipated. But it ended up not mattering.

While she had hundreds of men storming the castle from the godswood, she had thousands rushing his army at the north gate, slamming headlong into them. Her cavalry and foot were better trained, better fed, and better armored thanks to White Harbor.

And then something happened that she could not have imagined.

Men on the enemy side were dropping with no known reason, and screams of hysteria began filling the air. One after one they fell and fled, and then Sansa watched as the north gate rose, and her men rushed Ramsay’s army from the back.

The sights and sounds of battle were not what she expected. Even from the distance she was at, she could see limbs being hacked away from bodies, could hear the cries of fear and helplessness and victory. She saw men being chased and run down, saw horses butchered in an attempt to reach their rider. The field once covered with melting snow became a murky, muddy pit of blood and filth and death.

Battle was not glorious. It was disgusting. It was sad. And with the way her army dominated Ramsay’s, it was nothing but a slaughter.

Weapons began dropping and arms went into the air. She had instructed her men to let them live if it were possible. It was entirely probable that they were there against their will, and through it all...they were still northmen, still their brethren.

Her lords instructed her not to do so, but she ignored them. She took Rickon onto the battlefield after most of the cries were stifled. Mounds of bodies littered the ground, completely unrecognizable as either Stark or Bolton because of the mud. Men wandered and walked between bodies strewn about, collecting weapons and moving bodies into piles.

Ramsay was not among the casualties or men that had given up. She might not have found him, but what she did find was almost just as good.

Howland Reed, a man that she did not know personally, but she had heard of many times, popped out of a hole in the ground as if he did it every day. Then dozens more men did the same.

The men dropping like flies was then explained. Lord Howland Reed had made his way to Winterfell secretly, dug deep tunnels under the earth and his men had sat in their holes for weeks, waiting for the right moment. Then they had shot their little poison darts at the men, felling them, but not killing them, and for that Sansa was grateful. Even as Rickon and she inspected the damage and casualties, many men were rousing.

Lady Maege was overjoyed to see Lord Howland, bizarrely so, but she allowed them their moment as they prepared to search for Ramsay. The aged woman asked to speak to Sansa immediately, but Sansa declined her, saying that it would have to be for another time, a time when they knew they were completely safe and Ramsay was apprehended. Maege’s expression was firm yet worried, but Sansa could not think of what she wanted to discuss.

She felt nervous excitement flow through her as she waited in the courtyard of her home, surrounded by guards. The castle was being searched, and she prayed they would find him.

What they found instead was many dead men and women. Much of the castle help, from the kitchen maids to the maester, were dead. Ramsay had decided to take everyone with him. The silence in the castle was haunting and eerie.

After hours of searching and sending men to comb the godswood and the surrounding areas around the castle, Rickon whispered a suggestion into her ear. She felt her eyes drawn to the place where her forefathers had been laid to rest. It was against tradition to let anyone but a Stark into that place, but she could not risk herself or Rickon.

“Search the crypts.”

They dragged him screaming into the light. He cursed and spat and flailed, but it mattered not. She could see his fear, his ugly face and wormy lips so much like Joffrey’s that she had to suppress a shudder. He was not an attractive man. He was dirty, covered in blood, and nearly hysterical in his attempt to escape the grasp of the guards. One of them cuffed him, and he looked down into the dirt.

Lady Margaery dismounted with Sansa as he was brought before them.

“You bastard,” Lady Margaery said, and then promptly fisted her dainty gloved hand and punched him in the eye.

Sansa wanted to do much more than that, but she knew she had to keep herself tightly controlled. She was being watched, as was Rickon. They had to remain united, as a team. They had to be strong. That did not mean that Lady Margaery had to do the same, and in fact, Sansa had some personal joy as Margaery struck him several more times. The guards kindly held him in place as the lady pummeled him and let him know exactly how she felt.

When Margaery was finished, she was panting with effort. She then pivoted and returned to her side. Men stared with wonder at the sight of the huffing brunette.

Sansa then turned to Ramsay and met his icy eyes. He smirked at her at first, but then his bloody smile melted off his face at her words.

“Ramsay Snow, you have lost Winterfell. You have committed crimes against the people of the north and they are too many to count. Your selfishness and greed have caused death and suffering of untold amounts. You have left a path of destruction that no known northman has in known history. Today, you will face what you have done and die by the sword.”

She felt an enormous weight lift from her, as if she had been burdened unknowingly. She watched the horror fill the bleeding man’s face and then he began screaming again.

“I’m not a bastard! I am Ramsay _Bolton! Boltonnnnnn!!!!!!”_

He was pulled away, kicking and screeching, to the Great Hall.

“Megga...they have not found her yet,” Margaery said, worry filling in her voice as she looked around the courtyard. Her other cousin that had come with them to the north had been left behind in White Harbor, along with Sansa’s handmaiden, for their safety. She would make sure to send word as soon as they could. Winterfell had to be secured first.

Cheers began suddenly.

_Victory._

The word was a boon to a shattered spirit, a battered soul. She looked about her home, saw the damage, but did not see it in a bad way. She just saw the future. Saw the possibilities.

_Winterfell and the north will be the word on everyone’s lips in the Seven Kingdoms. Our greatness will be known until the end of time. I will see to it._

* * *

 

 

Megga was found.

She was in a small chamber that looked as if Ramsay used it regularly for his heinous tortures. Chains, tools, blood...it was everywhere. The stench alone made Sansa nearly gag.

Megga was alive, barely. She was hanging by her wrists from the wall, naked. She had broken bones, her head was shaved, and parts of her skin were flayed. She had urinated and defecated upon herself. She had a blank stare that was disturbing, and Sansa shuddered, as she vividly remembered her own familiar stare. The one where she tried to go to another place, another time, as she was raped again and again.

Margaery went to her, tried to speak to her, but Megga just stared.

Sansa conferred with a few lords and Lady Maege Mormont, and they all decided that it was time. There was no reason to hold a trial, no point in speaking with the man that all knew to be one of the most evil men to ever live in Westeros.

Sansa looked to her men, to her people, and she saw the same look in their eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Ramsay did not want to die easily.

He was tied up in brutal fashion, blood caked on any bared skin, and three of her lords had to hold him down as Sansa spoke to him above his hysterical cries. They were words she had spoken before, and words that she knew she would speak again.

“Ramsay Snow, here in sight of gods and men I sentence you to die. Would you speak your final words?”

He screeched again and again. “I am the rightful lord of Winterfell! Proclaimed by the king! Ramsay Bolton! Me!”

Sansa stared down at the man that had been the bane of the north for years. The man that had abandoned Jon and Daenerys when they were fighting the Night King. It was whispered that he killed his own father, the father that had helped kill her mother and her brother and their men. He raped and killed and starved people, and burned down towns, as was apparent by the sight of winter town.

Lady Mormont handed Sansa a sword, one that had been made for her back in White Harbor by the request of a man she could not think of right now.

The long sword felt heavy, but it was lighter than the magical bastard sword she had used to behead the men back in the Vale.

She raised her sword above her head, kept her grip firm and did not waver despite Ramsay’s screams and squirms. She prayed that her swing would be true, and strong, and brought it down hard.

The silence made her ears pound, as she stared at the crimson blood squirting from the neck. Ramsay’s head rolled upon the muddy ground, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. When it stilled, his eyes stared up into the sky. His features were stilled in a hideous expression, and Sansa could see that his teeth were starting to brown and rot.

She handed the sword back to Lady Maege, thanked her quietly, and marched into the Great Hall with Rickon by her side. He took her hand in a quick gesture and squeezed before letting go. The entire exchange was hidden between their cloaks. Sansa wondered if it was the first time he had ever seen such a thing, and realized that her father might have went about the whole situation differently. She hoped that her people were not disappointed in her, and that Rickon would not suffer from what she had done and he had seen.

It did not take long for the giant chamber to fill with men and women of all walks of life—lords, ladies, servants that had escaped their former lord’s wrath. The people that had lived in the castle looked drawn and hungry. Rickon, who stood next to her, was urged into the lord’s chair, the seat that her father, and his father before him, had sat. It was the very seat that lords of Winterfell and kings of winter had rested, held court, and passed law.

And Rickon sat there now.

She watched as he squirmed and looked uncomfortable. His cloak and the fur about his shoulders enveloped him totally. His hair was long and unruly, the red color starkly contrasting with the white and black of the fur. Men and women scrutinized and stared. There were murmurs, and she knew that they were waiting for him to talk, to make a speech.

He was so young for a lord’s duties, she knew. The sight of him sitting in that large stone seat made him look so little and she felt a fierce protectiveness overcome her. She had kept him by her side, tried to teach him, tried to show him the ways of life that he was to expect now. He had been so wild when she had first met him, but looking at him now, he seemed older, more refined, with just a bit of a rough edge. _Blood of the wolf._

She was proud of him, despite it all.

She knew that she was to be his regent, to care for him and lead him until he came of age. But that still did not change the strange, yet known ache that she felt in her heart. She closed her eyes, and tried to make the feeling flee. She tried to feel happy for this moment.

“I...I’m not the best at this,” Rickon began, and she smiled, feeling warmth bloom in her chest. He looked so much like their mother. She just wanted to hug him then. He fidgeted, so much like a child would, and she had to fight the urge to admonish him to be still.

“We fought well. It wasn’t the battle you were all hoping for, I know.” There was a small cheer, and Rickon’s pale face seemed to relax some. “Men died for us, for me, though. And for that I can never be grateful enough. To the men that died!”

A loud cry went up, and Sansa drew in a deep breath, feeling the noise wash over her. She was in her home again. Rickon was in his home again.

_I am strong behind the walls of Winterfell._

It was all she had wanted for such a long, long time. It was surreal that it was really happening.

Rickon stood then, walked down the stone steps, and came to where she was standing. She looked at him askance, unsure as to why he was there. He took her gloved hand, and she allowed him to lead her up the steps, until they were both standing before the throne of winter. Memories came unbidden then, of her being a little girl, sitting on her father’s lap in that very chair. It made her throat feel tight. She knew Rickon would have been too young to remember such a thing.

“I couldn’t have done any of this, if it weren’t for my sister. Sansa has kept me by her side through all of this...tried to teach me how to be a lord, how to lead and be kind and just. I...I was never meant for this. She has tried to groom me. And I know there are many years ahead of us for her to continue to do so...”

Sansa looked down at him, hearing him trail off. She suddenly felt scared, unsure as to what was going on. This was not a traditional victory speech.

“But I’m not meant for this. I know I’m not. Sansa is. Sansa was _meant_ for this. She is perfect for this job, for leading our people, for ruling this castle. So I have a request for my lords—I want to step down. I want Sansa to be the Lady of Winterfell.”

Sansa stared at her brother, in complete disbelief. He looked at her, a mischievous grin on his face, so childlike and so... _Rickon._

The noise in the room increased to deafening levels, until Lady Mormont stormed up the steps. After her, followed Lord Howland Reed.

Sansa felt like everything was a blur. In shock, she watched as Lady Mormont lifted a piece of parchment into the air and waved it around.

“Everyone listen now,” her voice boomed, and silence enveloped the room. “You all know who I am. You know that I followed King Robb, lost children in the war and the Red Wedding.” It was a sobering moment, and everyone looked down, almost as if in prayer. Sansa knew it was really in sadness and not being able to look the woman in the eye.

“I want it to be known that Robb Stark tasked me with something that was vitally important, something that I have kept secret from most, due to how dire it could be if it fell into the wrong hands.”

Sansa felt her eyes land on Howland Reed, a mysterious presence that she had not really acknowledged since the battle had been over. Short, of an age with her father, he did not have a commanding figure. In fact, if he were to stand amongst her other lords, he would be drowned out by their sheer size.

“Robb Stark sent Galbart Glover and me to find Greywater Watch and deliver his will.” There were collective gasps and the crowd stirred restlessly. “It took well over two moons to find Lord Reed, and when we did, we handed him the will of the King in the North.” She looked at the paper then, and Sansa saw her hand tremble. The woman was powerful, albeit older, and Sansa feared the words she would say. Nothing had prepared her for this. Is this what Lady Mormont had wanted to speak to her of? She suddenly regretted telling her they would speak later.

“There are many things that came about during my time in Greywater Watch. I found out about my Dacey being killed in the Red Wedding. My king...his mother, brutally murdered. Our people! They were slaughtered...left unavenged. To this day I think about killing every Frey...”

Several hoots filled the hall, and Maege looked up again, her vicious expression fading. “I stayed in Greywater Watch, biding my time. I knew that Bear Island was safe with my little Lyanna. The war went on around us, with only little pieces of news trickling in from Lord Reed’s people. King’s died, queen’s died. And then the most unexpected thing happened.”

Sansa unconsciously raised her hand to her chest, her heart pounding ferociously.

“Brynden Blackfish and King Robb’s wife, Queen Jeyne, appeared at Greywater Watch.”

Sansa felt faint. Robb’s wife had lived, and with her, could have been the possibility of a child. Her mind raced.

“The queen and the Blackfish had gone through hell to get there, and it was no surprise that Jeyne was with child.” Maege looked at her then, and Sansa wanted to be sick. Maege’s face told her nothing, and it killed her to know that yet again, she had lost everything. Even more so this time.

“Jeyne Stark gave birth to a boy. But he was sickly. We tried...she tried...but neither survived.”

Sansa’s hand flew to her mouth. She forced back the bile that came to the back of her throat. She closed her eyes...fought the tears. It was too much. Too much.

“And so the issue of the will returned. Robb Stark had named Jon Snow as his heir, as his brothers were supposedly dead, and because his sister Sansa was wed to a Lannister, and Arya dead or disappeared. And that was when Howland Reed told me the truth of the birth of Jon Snow. A truth that many of you now know anyhow, that he is the product of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. Bastard or trueborn, we do not know, but Lord Glover and I feared the possibilities.”

Maege stepped beside Sansa then, the opposite of Rickon, and placed her hand upon her shoulder. “Moons went by. More kings and queens died. Wars were won. Galbart Glover fought and died at the Wall. And I went back to Bear Island, to my home. We all hung our heads that the Starks were dead and gone, and reserved ourselves to the misery that was Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton.”

Sansa felt Rickon’s hand intertwine with hers then, and she squeezed it hard.

“But then we heard the news. That Lady Sansa was alive. And so I fled to Greywater Watch once more, and met with Lord Reed. We spoke, knew what needed to be done. I went to White Harbor, to the meeting of the lords, the gathering that has brought us all here.”

Maege’s large hand felt heavy, but welcome upon her shoulder. She had been a staunch supporter of Sansa, and Sansa often sought her wisdom. She looked her in the eyes as she spoke.

“Jon Targaryen was crowned king of the Seven Kingdom’s, despite being the heir of Robb Stark. Many of us still thought of him as the king in the north, however. He was beloved by all. He fought for us, died for us. He won the war, ended it and much of the suffering. He did his best to bring Lady Sansa home, and even when he found out that Rickon was alive...he did his best.”

Maege turned her hard stare out to the crowd then.

“What that blasted dragon did was the worst thing we could have ever expected. It was nothing Jon could have prevented. But the truth remains that Jon _left_ , he abandoned us for his wife, for his queen in the south, when we needed him here. Despite what he may think, he betrayed us. In our time of need!” Angered sounds filled the air, and Sansa felt the same pain all over again, the pain that she tried to avoid at all costs.

“I declare that we _need_ no king or queen in the south! I declare that Lady Sansa led us here, won, and is the great lady that her brother would have wanted on the throne if she had the last name _Stark!”_

The Great Hall exploded. Sansa’s heart was in her throat. Her ears ached with the noise and the pounding of blood. Rickon’s hand left hers, and she felt a gentle nudge from him, urging her to the throne of winter. Maege took her hand, smiled her motherly smile, and Sansa drew in a deep breath as she sat upon the cold stone.

“Lady Sansa was lost to us! She is the lost queen! But she was found, and has been renamed a Stark. And we know no _queen_ but the queen in the north whose name is Stark!”

The sounds of swords being unsheathed rang through the air, and Sansa watched as a sea of people knelt before her. She stood then, and Lady Mormont raised her own spiked mace into the air.

“The Queen in the North!”

“THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH!”

“THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH!”

 

* * *

 

 

 **Author's Note** : It is taking a bit longer than I expected to wrap everything up in this story, but I suppose that is good for you guys XD

 

If there was anything confusing about this chapter let me know. Some of what was said from Maege Mormont is purely theory and/or speculation from book readers, such as the will and that Queen Jeyne and the Blackfish escaped and made it to Greywater Watch, and that she was pregnant. It is a well known theory, however.

 

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	46. Chapter 46

**Author’s Note** : I have to ask for forgiveness for the lateness of this chapter. It has been written for months, but I hated it with a passion. Something didn’t feel right about it, so I just sat on it with terrible writer’s block. Just a few days ago I had someone share a story with me on Tumblr, hoping to snap me out of this crappy funk, and boy did it ever! To anyone who hasn’t read it, please read Her Life and Her Death by magicmoon111. And thank you to Mika, who helped me get through this non-writing period by posting the suggestion. Also thank you to Danielle, my awesome beta, who told me a long time ago that I just needed to post this stupid thing lol.

 

Check out my Tumblr under gohansonna2.

 

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Chapter Forty Six

 

Jon

 

He watched as Ser Barristan was entombed in the Sept of Baelor with a tight throat.

It was a small ceremony, one with only their family. Daenerys clung to his hand and leaned against him, Tyrion stood to his left, Missandei stood off to the side. The missing presence of Barristan Selmy, the queen’s captain, felt painful.

Of course he had never known Ser Barristan like the rest of them, but it hurt nonetheless. The man had fought by his side; they had saved each other’s lives more than once. He was always there, a comforting presence, never intruding. Jon knew him to be one of the most honorable men he had ever known, just like Eddard Stark.

When the ceremony was over, Jon looked down at his wife. Her hand was over her belly, the sight of the roundness still a shock to him. She was pale, and he could see the tears in her eyes that she refused to shed in front of everyone.

When he had heard the news of this great man having died trying to find Daenerys, he had swallowed hard, feeling the clawing pain in his chest that he had felt so frequently over the last few days. He had kept it together only because he had to be strong for his wife, who tried so desperately to be, but he knew could not.

He had only seen her cry a handful of occasions in the time he had known her. She just was not the type to do so. She was a queen—she kept herself tightly controlled, especially in front of others. It was only when she was alone, with him, that he saw how much she was suffering from the losses around her.

Many things were revealed in the days following his return. Daenerys, Tyrion, and Missandei spoke to him at length about how his wife had been captured, following her meeting with Lady Alestra, who had supposedly been in labor. Dany told him how she had been drugged, even told that she had been poisoned in an attempt to kill her child, something she still did not know how Alestra had known. There were many holes and unknowns, and they could only really be answered by the High Sparrow. But there was something that Jon wanted to do before he met the evil old man.

Tyrion’s son was so tiny. It brought back vague memories of his own time as a child and Lady Catelyn delivering her children. He had never been allowed to hold them in her presence, but when alone with Ned, he had been permitted to touch the babes. He did not remember holding Sansa, but he remembered holding the littler ones.

He held the babe now, against his chest. He looked down at the face of Tyrion’s bastard son, and felt a connection with him that he had not expected. He touched his finger to his tiny nose, and felt a smile tug at his lips when the baby’s face twitched and his mouth popped open.

“The little lord is hungry,” the wet nurse said, cooing at the babe from her position in the rocking chair nearby. Jon looked up, and instead of catching the eye of the woman that fed Tyrion’s child, he met his wife’s.

Her expression was intense, but soft in such a way that he knew immediately what she was thinking of. Him, holding their child.

“What is his name?” Jon asked, and he saw Daenerys’s face shift into another expression, one he didn’t understand. She turned away, and he looked to Tyrion for an explanation.

“His name is Jaime. I wanted to name my son after a good man, a man that was misunderstood, a man that never got to be as great as he could have been. This will be his chance at greatness.”

Daenerys told him later that Tyrion had explained in detail why he had chosen that name, and how truly misunderstood the kingslayer had been. Daenerys had been opposed to the name at first, but then had accepted it when she spoke in depth to her Hand about how Jaime had been the catalyst to many things, things that had made her queen.

Then she told Jon about the legitimization of Jaime, and how he was officially Tyrion’s heir.

Shortly after that, they made their way down into the Red Keep’s dungeons. Jon had been there before, and the memories both angered him and saddened him. To know that Sansa’s capture and near-rape had been caused by the High Septon made him feel murderous rage. He wanted to reach through the bars and strangle the man that had caused thousands of deaths, riots, and upheaval in the Seven Kingdoms. All in the name of his twisted ideas and religion.

The High Sparrow was delirious from fever and had been for several days. He could not speak but in mutters and words that made no sense. His wounds were horrific, and Jon felt a dark smile twist his face. Ghost had delivered the blow that had mutilated the High Sparrow’s shoulder, throat, and chest, and it pleased him to know that his direwolf, though gone, was causing such suffering now. Jon watched him, watched the man that could have killed his wife and his child, and hoped that he died soon. He said as much to Daenerys.

“No. I want him to live. I want him to live for what I have in store for him.”

She cared not to explain, and he did not prod. He had a feeling he knew.

The weeks crept by. The Red Keep was hectic following the return of the king and queen, the death of Ser Barristan and Lady Alestra, the knowledge of Prince Trystane’s and the High Septon’s treachery, and the birth of the Hand’s child. Women swarmed the halls hoping to be the one to become his second wife, and then it was all topped off by Daenerys announcing her pregnancy and the subsequent symptoms of that pregnancy.

While all of this happened, he mourned the loss of Ghost...and the north.

Jon had feared telling Daenerys what had happened that fateful day...when Drogon had almost killed him in her frantic need to tell him she knew something had happened to her mother...and the men Drogon had trampled and burned to death, still a number of which he could not conceive. All he knew was that it numbered in the hundreds.

And then Sansa...

Some days he would work up the courage to tell Daenerys, but then she would turn deathly pale and retch right then and there. More than once he’d had to change his clothes. She was frequently ill, weak, irritable, and in pain. There were even days that she felt like she could not get out of bed, and Jon would have to force her to drink or nibble on bland food, just so she would eat.

On days that he felt he could tell her, he would open his mouth to say the words, and then his chest would explode in pain and he would struggle to draw breath. He would clutch at his heart, feeling the panic spread through his body, and he would have to leave his wife’s side, desperate for her to not see him like that. It often took him hours to recover.

Almost a moon had passed by the time he felt he could tell her. It had been a good day for her, and she had only felt slightly nauseous a few times. She was well-fed, warm from her bath and they had just made love. Four direwolf pups nestled upon a thick bear skin before a low-burning fire, occasionally letting out a low yip in their slumber. He prayed to his gods that she would understand what he was about to tell her, and that he could handle the pain he knew would come.

“I know that we have not spoken of my time in the north...or how it came to be that I knew to return.”

He felt her fingers begin stroking the back of his arm. She was lying down, him sitting forward, unable to look at her. He was not sure he could, and he knew himself to be a coward. Already he felt his fingers tingling, and knew the panic would come soon.

She listened as he spoke. He told her of how Drogon had burned her way into his mind, so much like the bond him and Ghost had shared, but different as well. He told her of how he’d had similar experiences before, but nowhere near as intense. He spoke of the death, the destruction that her dragon had caused, and how he had known that her life was in danger.

“Drogon did not care...all she knew was that she had to get to me...and get me home so I could save you.”

Drogon’s condition had not worsened, but neither had it improved. They visited the dragon daily, along with the other two, who would not leave Drogon’s side.

Daenerys was quiet for some time, and he knew that she was mourning the deaths of the people her dragon had killed. Innocent men. She told him it was not the first time, nor would it be the last.

“Sansa must be devastated,” Daenerys said then, an odd tone to her voice, her fingers straying to his back, gently running up and down his spine. He wanted to push her away at her words, because they hurt so much. He buried his face into his hands and drew in a shuddering breath. His arms were numb.

“I want you to make all these girls leave. I will not marry one of them. Not now.”

Her hand stilled on his back. The spreading numbness was making the sensation of her touch very uncomfortable.

“Done.”

He turned then, to look down at her. His breath caught for just the barest moment, seeing her laying there. The softly flickering firelight reflected off her pale skin, and her hair was so beautifully tousled. Her lips were still red and swollen from him ravaging her mouth, and he could not help but let his eyes travel down the rest of her body. Her breasts were so much fuller, her nipples darker. The roundness of her belly was pronounced in such a way that they had to get inventive in their positions when they made love.

The ripeness of her body had him growing hard again. He just wanted to touch her and never stop, but the combinations of sensations in his body had his mind whirling. He swallowed thickly, feeling the tendrils of discomfort begin in his lungs.

“Those women will be gone within the sennight. I am sure that I will hear from their father’s soon,” she said, and he could hear the slight amusement in her voice. “They have been here for moons, waiting for your return, at their expense. Poor Tyrion has been run ragged dealing with them and their demanding mama’s.”

Jon would have smiled if he was not thinking of the reason why he wanted them gone. He was still looking at her, gazing at what he had wrought with his seed and their love.

_Love._

“Sansa...” he said, and he knew she heard the change in his voice. The change where his throat was beginning to close and his breath was hitching. He knew she was familiar with it all, and she was watching him closely. Her eyes looked darker in the low light. He prayed their child had her eyes. A little girl, he had told her. A girl that would be queen just like her mother.

“She...she told me...”

Daenerys’s features sharpened then, and suddenly, he _knew_ that she knew. He did not know how it was possible, but maybe it was her intuition. Maybe it was on his face. Maybe he would never know.

“She loves you. She told you, didn’t she?” Daenerys said, and he looked away. Panic grew. His throat was tightening.

“When? When did she tell you?” she demanded, sitting up. The intimacy of the moment was destroyed. “When, Jon?”

The pain in his chest that he tried to hide from her, that Ghost had always comforted him from, came on so hard and fast that he almost choked, his throat nearly closing. She pressed him, asking again, and he struggled to make the words come forth.

“When Drogon—” he gasped, trying to draw in a lungful of air.

Her hand came out of nowhere. He felt his head snap to the side, more in surprise than pain. She hissed and fled, until she was standing beside the bed.

“Not only did my dragon kill your people—her people—but she declared her _love for you,_ when Drogon was killing those people. And you left. You _left!_ What did you tell her? Did you even say anything at all? Or did you just _leave_ her?”

Jon stared at her. Her rage and beauty combined was magnificent. Her eyes sparkled a thousand shades of violet when she was like this. He sucked in air, felt himself wheeze, and tried to concentrate on her words. “I told her she didn’t know what love was. I told her that I loved you. And I left.”

Daenerys began yanking her hair into place. Her intricate braids were nearly knots, but she seemed to not care. The silvery, shoulder-length strands needed out of her face. “You have no idea what you have done, Jon.”

He shook his head. He did not understand what was happening. He was focusing on just breathing.

“You have scorned a woman that loved you. She _loved_ you, Jon. Even I knew she loved you. She adored you, her life revolved around you...and you abandoned her. Our dragon killed her people. You told her you didn’t love her. You don’t know what damage you have caused!”

  He stumbled after her, naked, from their bed chamber. The Unsullied guards did not even look their way until she demanded someone to retrieve the Grand Maester.

By the time Grand Maester Hyndyll came to them, Jon had thrown on a pair of wool leggings so he was at least decent. Daenerys spoke in hushed, hurried tones to the old man, and then turned to glare at him when the Grand Maester left.

“I had hoped that it wasn’t true,” she said, her hand on her chin as she paced. “I hoped that it was a ploy, some kind of intricate plot woven by the High Sparrow before he was jailed, but no. It all makes sense now.”

Jon stood there, dumbfounded and uncertain. It was not until the Grand Maester placed the scroll into his hand that he understood his wife’s distressed anger.

 

_Let it be known to all men that Sansa Stark, second of her name, has reclaimed her family home of Winterfell and has been named Queen in the North._

 

“Leave,” Daenerys demanded, and the Grand Maester bowed and left. She stared at the Unsullied guards posted about the chamber, and they left as well. They were alone.

“When?” he choked out, and she nearly growled.

“Two days past.” She paused, then crossed her arms over her chest. She stared at him, hard, brutal. He felt like she could see everything churning in his mind then, and his chest tightened even further. She blurred, and then came into focus again.

“How could you do this?” she asked, softer, desperate, and he could tell that she was barely holding herself together. Whether it was tears or rage, he was uncertain. Her mood swings in the last weeks had been extreme. It explained why she had struck him.

He tried to pull himself together for what he had to say. Tried thinking of the pain he had felt, the fear, the need. He focused on her, and he was able to draw in a few breaths without gasping or feeling too much pain. The numbness had spread through most of his body by then though, and he could not feel his face.

“I needed to get home to you,” he said slowly, and stared at her face, trying to focus only on her and trying to tamp down on his panic. “I could only _think_ of you. Knowing that you were in danger, or even worse—dying—is the reason why I did it.” He had to stop for a moment, and hoped that she did not notice his hand clawing at his chest. “Drogon...she had just invaded me unlike anything I had ever experienced...I felt her emotions, and combined with mine, _you_ were all I could think of.” He stopped, felt his heart racing, and tried to keep reminding himself to breathe. He even tried thinking of Ghost to calm himself. “I _know_...I know you understand the fear of knowing someone you love is dying or dead.” Pain bloomed hard and fast again, and he knew his face was betraying his suffering. “Do you think I wouldn’t do _anything_ to save the woman I loved? _Anything?_ After what I have lost?”

She stared at him for a long moment, and then jerked away and began pacing, her skirts swirling about her legs. He could see the outline of her pregnant belly and he could tell that even in the time span he had been home, she had grown noticeably. The Grand Maester said she was increasing very, very quickly.

It was something he had not wanted to bring up in the wake of how long they had been apart and how busy and loving they had been. He had wanted to bask in her and not ruin their precious time together. But it was something he thought of every day, something that haunted him and worried him. He hated to do it, hated to even bring it up, but her being angry at his actions was unfair when she had also done something wrong herself.

“Sansa has been declared queen—she has single-handedly taken half of my kingdom with one move. Who is to say that she won’t invade? Who is to say that she won’t start demanding things, start—?”

“Why did you never tell me you were with child when I was in the north?”

She halted her pacing, and he saw an expression he could not define shift across her face for the barest of moments before it was gone. Her mask, the one she so often wore in front of others, slipped into place, and he loathed her in that moment.

“Do not dare change the subject—”

He stood his ground. His heart thudded erratically. _Ghost. Gods, please help me through this. Help me breathe._ “I _told_ you why,” he rasped, and saw her sidelong glance. The way her eyes looked, it was almost as if she were worried.

“Sansa would _never_ do that. She only wants her home. She only wants to take care of her people. One of the hardest things I ever did in my life was leaving her like that, Daenerys! The pain it caused me was only soothed by you, knowing that I loved you, knowing that I might find you upon my return.” He gasped for several long moments, swallowed hard, and blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. “It is the only thing that has kept me together. Why did you not tell me? Why did you hide it? So many times since I’ve been home I have thought of so many ‘what if’s’. What if you weren't taken? Were you ever going to tell me? Or was I going to come home with a new wife on my arm and a babe in yours?"

He watched the blood drain from her face. They were standing so far apart, and seeing her suddenly bury her face into her hands had him wanting to take her into his arms and ask her to forgive him. For her to comfort him. For him to comfort her. He did not want to hurt her, did not want to see her upset on his account, but he _needed_ to know.

“You don’t understand,” she said, muffled by her hands. When she suddenly raised her head, he could see anger upon her features. Her cheeks were flushed and her tangled hair looked so stark against her skin. “You don’t understand! The pressure I am always under, the need and the desire and the drive, having to rule these battered kingdoms. Needing to provide an heir for my people was my number one concern, along with the High Sparrow’s and everyone else around me. And to sacrifice my husband for this need killed me inside! Knowing that he would be with another woman while I cried myself to sleep, unable to bear a child! But then it happened...I was pregnant. And I didn’t find out until you were far away. Do you know what it did to me, having to decide whether to tell you or keep it from you? I always asked myself, am _I_ more important, or is the kingdom? What if I don’t carry this child to term? What if I never get pregnant again? Do you think that I wouldn’t make you wed another? So that our line could continue? I forced myself to keep this secret because of all of _my_ ‘what if’s”, Jon. You needed to come home with a wife, or find one here, so that our line was safe. I wanted to _die_ while you were gone. I neglected my duties as a queen and was prostrate for days at a time. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I lost weight and I was _miserable_ beyond anything I have ever felt. Knowing that the father of my child didn’t even know he was a father. That he could die and would never know. That _I_ could die and you would find out without me ever telling you. It _hurt!_ It hurt so bad...every day my fingers would hold that quill and I would want to write the words to you, to tell you that I was with child...but I knew that the risk was too high. What if the wrong person found out? What if I lost the child and you came home for no reason, and Sansa lost the north, or even worse—her life—in the attempt? Too many what ifs, Jon. Too many. It was a difficult choice, but I made it. I never wanted to hurt you, but it happened. And I am sorry for that.” Tears were making their way down her face then. “I’m sorry.”

He stood there, watching her. His heart was pounding unevenly, and pain had spread throughout his body, making his muscles clench. It was so hard to breathe. Even harder now. _Ghost._ He fisted his hands and tried to calm himself. The more he thought about what had happened, the secrets they had kept from each other, the thought of Sansa hating him, his people hating him enough to crown her, made it impossible to keep himself together.

He started gasping, unable to stop it this time. His vision began blurring once more, but it was much worse this time. He heard Daenerys, heard her call his name, but it sounded so far away. It reminded him so much of the screams he had heard in battle, of the terror and the agony as war echoed around him. He could almost feel the weight of his sword in his hand, as he thrust it into the heart of his lover...

_Ghost._

He did not feel the floor when he fell, but he felt hands upon him. He heard her cries, her panic, but then it went away, and he was alone. Sansa’s face floated before his eyes, and he saw her again, with her crown of delicate crystals...a crown of winter, made just for her. It was not iron, not made for a king.

It was for a queen.

He felt the cold marble upon his cheek, and he knew that he was not long for this world. It almost felt like the ice he had felt filling his veins when he had died, when he had been frozen, when nothing but darkness had claimed him. He felt that same darkness creeping up on him, and he could only think of one thing as he struggled for air.

_Ghost..._

_Ghost..._

_Ghost..._

A rough, wet tongue bathed his face. A cold nose found its way into his ear, and he opened his eyes, feeling the shackle around his chest release just enough to where he could breathe again.

He sucked air in desperately. He struggled to see, kept blinking, kept hoping his vision would clear.

Daenerys hovered above him, and he watched as her face became clearer. Tears had worn paths down her cheeks, and he reached for her with tremulous hands.

A warm, fuzzy head came between them. He blinked hard, confused, and then tried to sit up. He felt Daenerys help him, and when he was sitting, he stared down at the ball of fur in his lap.

His hand unconsciously made its way into the same place it always had with Ghost, first over his ear, and then down the back of his head, over and over again. The little white direwolf pup watched him with his grey eyes, and Jon felt something shift in his chest, felt the pain lessen, and he could suddenly breathe again.

He felt an awkward smile reach his lips. Ghost had never really been gone. He was still here, here by his side, a balm to his spirit, in the place of his son.

“Spirit,” he said, picking the pup up and burying his face into the small area of its neck. The direwolf had remained nameless in the wake of his mourning and unwillingness to replace Ghost, but Jon could no longer ignore the creature. The pup had tried for weeks to tag along with him in everything he did, and Jon had shunned him from the beginning. He had allowed the four pups to remain together, for he did not know what to do with them and could not bear to part them without a companion. A worthy companion.

“Jon,” he heard, and he looked up to see his wife and her worried eyes gazing at him.

His hand lifted to meet her cheek. His fingers drifted to her eyebrows and soothed their furrow. The tremble to his fingers was not missed by either of them. Still, he pulled her closer, until she was only a breath away. Spirit wriggled between them, but then stilled, realizing he was warm and cozy. They both chuckled, and Jon pressed his lips to hers gently.

“You brought Spirit to me to...” He could not say the words. His breakdowns were something she was not unfamiliar with, but he had always tried to hide them from her. Once they had been married, so many of his problems had been soothed by her presence. Him confiding in her, telling her who he was, becoming closer to her, had helped him so. But fighting with her, losing Sansa and the north, mourning Ghost, and only the gods knew everything else, it had just been too much. Too much.

“You finally named him,” she said softly, stroking his hair. He leaned into her touch, needing her close.

“It’s fitting,” he said, and then looked at her, really looked at her. Her composure so rarely crumbled, but sometimes she was so free and open with him, letting herself weep and scream and laugh. The woman the rest of the world saw was not the one he had in front of him, so beautifully disheveled and full of sorrow for him. Her mask was gone once more, and the loathing he had felt for her when he had seen her put it into place slipped away.

“I love you,” he whispered, feeling a different kind of tightness in his chest. “I’m sorry. I...I shouldn’t have fought with you. I should have just told you the truth from the beginning. It was just...I’m afraid I have lost her forever, Daenerys...”

She knew exactly who he was talking about. It was hard to say her name, even in thought.

“And I am sorry too. We shouldn’t fight. We are two people full of pride. We should learn to put that pride aside for each other. If we love each other, then we should be strong enough to approach each other with truth and understanding, rather than fear. We should never be afraid to speak to each other. We cannot keep things from each other. It will only cause a rift to build between us.”

Her hands tangled in the fur of the pup between them. “I heard Spirit yelping in our bedchamber when you fell upon the floor. I didn’t know what else to do. I could only think of how Ghost had been such a comfort for you...as soon as I opened that door, he bolted straight to you.”

“I wish—”

A loud thumping knock rang through the chamber, and they both turned towards the door. He quickly scrambled up and aided his wife to stand, as her balance was now often precarious. She pressed her hand to his chest just briefly in a move that he knew was affection, and then stepped away, the queen.

“Enter,” she called.

Grand Maester Hyndyll, ever the composed man, looked flustered and red in the face. He was huffing, and Jon feared the man was going to collapse. He hurried over, a scroll waving in the air.

“Your Grace, I knew that I must bring this to you immediately. The raven was injured, but it made it.”

Daenerys accepted the tiny message from the Grand Maester, a furrow once more upon her perfect brow. She read quickly, her face oddly relaxing as she finished.

“What?” he asked, and she handed him the message. A faint quirk of her lip let him know that it was not bad news.

Jon swallowed as he recognized the delicate scrawl upon the parchment.

 

_Jon, please know that it was not I who chose this. It was my people. They chose me, like they chose Robb. I cannot deny them this choice, not after everything they have been through. Please try to understand that I am not rebelling against you or Daenerys, as I love you both so. It hurts me to write this after...everything._

_Forgive me._

 

He felt his eyes shift awkwardly to Daenerys. Her expression was firm, but not filled with displeasure.

“Grand Maester Hyndyll,” she said, turning to the man that would deliver his child if the gods saw fit. “Write to _Queen_ Sansa. Request her presence at King's Landing. Bid her to come peacefully, as an ally. We wish to speak to this queen in the north.”

 


	47. Chapter 47

**Author’s Note** : Merry Christmas everyone! I understand that a lot of you are really hating on Sansa and Dany right now, and I can understand why. A lot doesn't make sense, but I hope that it comes together and everyone can ultimately decide on their own that Sansa or Dany were right or wrong or both. Both have had undesirable actions in this story, but they have their reasons. Hopefully this will all tie together at the end, which is near!

 

Chapter Forty Seven

 

The Queen in the North

 

Sansa held the scroll in her gloved hand, pondering.

She had been queen naught but a fortnight and the queen in the south was requesting her presence. It had been a difficult decision to sends ravens south to King's Landing, but she had done it. Had forced herself to do it.

Luckily she had learned from Petyr how to send ravens, else there would have been silence. Ramsay had killed the maester and many servants in his desperate final spree of death, and it had left Sansa scrambling to make up for the learned man’s missing presence.

She placed the scroll upon her desk and decided to let it stay for a while. She had many duties as Queen in the North and the ruler of Winterfell. Ravens were flying back and forth to every castle in the north and even to places in the Vale and the Riverlands. She was very busy indeed, and was often awake into the wee hours of the morning, writing and planning.

“Sansa!”

She looked up just in time to see Rickon dashing down the hallway, Shaggy chasing him not far after. He called her name again, and she smiled at the sound of laughter in his voice.

_You will get to be a child now, instead of a lord. My sweet, sweet little brother..._

Although he was her heir, she hoped that he would never need to carry the title of king or lord of anything besides what he wanted. He spent hours playing and chasing the children that were coming in from all over the north every day, hoping to find shelter and food and work.

And they were finding all of those.

She splayed her hands upon a large parchment, plans written down for what she had in mind for the north. She had learned so much from her time in King's Landing, from Queen Cersei and the small council, and mostly from Petyr, who had tormented her so but had given her an opportunity that never would have existed otherwise. She was almost thankful at times when she thought of her past, for it enabled her to truly govern the north in a way that it never had been before.

She had ideas for her own council, her own court, her own Hand of the Queen. They were all concepts now, though she knew they would come to fruition in one way or another.

But first, she needed a maester. She pulled out a clean piece of parchment, and began writing.

 

**********

 

“Mya! Randa!”

She hugged her friends fiercely as they ran to her, huge grins upon their faces.

It had been well over a moon since she had written to the Vale, requesting their presence in the northern court. She had wanted them to be in her retinue, something that no prior northern lady or queen had ever had.

Mya Stone was a bastard, but Sansa did not care. Her whole world had been changed by a man who had once been thought of as a bastard, and she dared anyone to so much as give Mya an odd look.

After their hugs, both ladies gave her deep curtsies, making them all giggle as they both said, “Your Grace.” She shushed them and brought them into the castle, where it was warm. A spring snow had recently fallen, and both ladies looked slightly chilled.

They spoke for hours, catching up on what was happening in the Vale and the North, along with the rest of the kingdoms. Randa spoke of several men that she already had her eye on, and Mya guffawed, not surprised.

“I hope that you stay with me,” Sansa said, reaching out her hands to lace her fingers with her friends. “Queen Daenerys and King Jon still have not assigned a new lord of the Vale, and I could imagine how tense it is there. I could use the help of two saucy wenches.”

They all burst out laughing, and Sansa felt her chest swell with happiness. She had not felt such a way in a long time. Pain still embraced her, still made her ache inside. It was slowly getting better though, she just needed time.

“I have no reason to stay,” Mya said, shrugging. “I’ll miss the mountains, but I have nothing there.”

“Yes, and all the men are borrrrring. I think I’ve had my way with all of the good ones anyhow. It’s time to sink my claws into some northern meat!”

Sansa was appalled, but they all laughed. They began speaking of some of Sansa’s plans for the north, when there was a timid knock on the door. Sansa called for entry.

“Y-Y-our G-Grace.”

Sansa smiled warmly at her new maester. He was young, painfully shy, and uniquely enough, had brought a family with him. He had just arrived three days before, after traveling for a little over a moon.

“Maester Samwell. Please, meet my friends. Lady Myranda and Lady Mya.” Mya gave her a cross look for the _lady_ part.

The fat man bowed his head, his chains clinking together. “Y-Your Grace, a raven. From your Lady Hand.”

Sansa felt her smile smooth into a frown. Lady Maege Mormont had been named her Lady Hand a moon prior, and had begun traveling across the north to send people to Winterfell and take requests on repairs and needs and anything else that could possibly come up. She sent ravens every time she arrived at a new castle, and it had been a few days since she had heard from her.

“Excuse me, my ladies. I shall return shortly.”

Samwell, or Sam as he had asked her to call him, trudged down the passageways until they arrived at her study. It was a small but warm room, off the lord’s chamber that she had taken over.

Sam handed her the larger than usual scroll, and she felt apprehensive at what Maege could have written.

 

_To Her Grace, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell,_

_I have arrived at the Dreadfort. It is atrocious. The people here are starved and abused and in need of much help. We have freed many from the dungeons, as the guards still thought that Ramsay was Lord Paramount. It may surprise you, but several are from Winterfell, and you will know them from your childhood. They should arrive back to Winterfell in the coming weeks, after they have recovered some strength._

Sansa drew in a deep breath. She wondered who could have possibly survived such a horrific thing, in dungeons for years, undergoing abuse and starvation. Then she remembered a girl, a girl from a long time ago, who underwent her own torture, her own suffering, and made it out. Maybe that’s what got these people through it, too. Hope.

 

_I have installed our new lord of the Dreadfort, and he is already putting up quite the fuss. Tormund has expressed some serious issues, all of which will be addressed in time. I do, however, believe he misses you. I think he preferred to be your guard and advisor more than being a lord of such a dreary place. Perhaps we can speak of this at another time._

_I know that we spoke of this before I departed, but it is time that you left for the south, my dear. I know that you are worried about so many things, but the north is in my capable hands, and I can be at Winterfell within a sennight of hard riding. Please understand that I would not say this unless I thought it pertinent. Queen Daenerys is forgiving and loving of your person...you know that this trip will not be as bad as you think it will be._

Sansa had spoken to her Lady Hand a few times about her fears of traveling south, most of which had been of Daenerys. She had left out Jon, because she did not want the older woman to see her broken heart in her eyes.

_I cannot keep stalling. She is right. I am gathering a court, I have a maester, I am building a Queensguard. My council is coming together. I have the support of the Vale and Riverlands for rebuilding. Everything is coming together perfectly. I just need to deal with the biggest problem of all._

She looked at Sam and nodded. “Make preparations for my retinue and guards to depart within the sennight. We are going to King's Landing.”

 

Daenerys

 

Dany groaned in misery as she lifted her head from the chamberpot. The gods forsaken thing was almost a constant presence in her lap of late.

“I will call for the Grand Maester.”

She lifted her hand and shook her head. She was sick of seeing the old man, and although he had good intentions, none of his concoctions or cures for her ailments had worked yet.

“I am fine,” she muttered, stifling a gag and swallowing to try to keep down what meager food remained in her stomach.

“You are losing too much weight, Daenerys. Your stomach grows larger but you grow thin. You cannot go to Dragonstone like this,” Jon protested from his desk, an odd assortment of paperwork in front of him.

She pressed a cloth to her lips and looked askance at her husband. He had grown used to her constantly being sick, but his face showed concern. She was sure hers showed irritation.

“I need to go. I have to retrieve two eggs. It is necessary that I do this.”

He stood and walked to her side so he could help her stand. She felt weak, so she leaned against him gratefully. He held her close, his hands rubbing up and down her back and arms.

“Drogon is still not well. You should stay to continue tending to her. I will go to Dragonstone if you are insisting.”

She shook her head against his chest. “Only Missandei and I know the location of that mysterious cave, Jon. It would be best if she went with me.”

He forced her to look at him by tilting up her chin with his fingers. Daenerys felt self-conscious that there was vomit on her face, but he told her time and time again that he did not care. She was carrying their child; the only thing that mattered was her comfort.

“I will take Missandei with me then. Do not argue with me, woman.”

She could not help but laugh pathetically as she sagged against him once more, feeling exhaustion claim her. Her symptoms were so much more exaggerated this pregnancy. Rhaego had never made her ill; in fact, she had felt strong and hale. She was so much bigger this time around, but the Grand Maester had told her that with subsequent pregnancies, a woman’s stomach would often look bigger because of weaker muscles.

The Grand Maester hovered over her belly constantly, almost on a daily basis. His hands would frequently palpitate her stomach, his face frowning as he shifted from one side to the other, and then press his ear upon her skin to listen. He would mutter odd words to himself as he measured her progress, and then just nod to her, assuring her that all was well.

Daenerys had spoken to him and Jon with some concern just several days before. She had revealed the state of Rhaego when he had been born, and how she feared a recurrence. It was common within the Targaryen bloodline to have children born with deformities, die early, and even the mothers to die during birth. Jon had not known this about Targaryens, and she had seen the fear on his face. The Grand Maester, however, was well-versed in Targaryen genealogy.

“Fear not, Your Grace,” he had said, patting her shoulder in a fatherly way. Jon had smothered the urge to smile, she had seen it. She too, had to force herself not to smile. “While it is common within your family to have genetic defects, it is mostly because of the marriage between brother and sister. It is known by the Citadel that such breeding can cause a higher percentage of this to happen. And while His Grace is related to you, there has been some dilution of relation there, so we can only pray to the gods that your child will be healthy. Try not to think too much on it, Your Grace. Thinking this way is not good for the babe.”

Shortly after the Grand Maester had left, Dany had brought up another fear—it was something that she had thought of since the beginning of her pregnancy, and she was afraid to tell Jon her thoughts for she was positive it would anger him. But they had promised each other to speak their mind and not hide anything from one other, and so she had spilled everything to him.

“Jon, if...if our child is born... _unwell_...”

He had taken her hand and pressed a kiss upon it. “Do not think of it.”

She had shaken her head, needing to press forward. “Or if the babe does not come to term...or dies...”

“Daenerys...”

“Our line _must_ continue, Jon.”

He had drawn in a long breath, one that she had hoped would steady him. When he looked down at her again, it was not with the anger or hurt that she had feared.

“Our child will be perfect,” Jon had reassured her, gently squeezing her fingers. “He or she will be the most beautiful, perfect, amazing child. I have no doubt of that. Nothing created from our union could be born such a way.”

She had felt tears begin to fill her eyes, and he had cupped her cheek, stroking her skin softly. “However, if it happens... if for some unfathomable reason the child does not make it...I will do as you ask. But _only_ if you give yourself more time. Please, Daenerys. You have only seen twenty name days. Give us more time. You have proven that you can become pregnant. The prophecy you so feared was false. You are not cursed.”

Dany felt her heart pound so hard in that moment, both from trepidation and happiness, and eventually nodded in agreement. She would give them more time and another chance to have a child should something happen to this one.

She looked at the bed in their room then, and knew herself to be too drained to make the trip to Dragonstone that day. Her belly was cramping painfully, and she flinched as she left Jon’s arms and drifted towards the bed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, following her. His hands were ever near, touching her, consoling her, just needing to be upon her. She adored his protectiveness and love when she felt like this.

“The cramping again. A bit more painful than usual.”

She did not even have a chance to naysay him before he had left the room. She sighed as she fell back upon the thick pillows. She knew exactly where he was going.

It was only a few minutes later that the Grand Maester and her husband were in the doorway. Even in such a short amount of time, she had nearly fallen asleep. She yawned as she tried to sit up, but Jon was there, all too quick to press her back down.

“She said they are hurting more than usual,” he murmured to the Grand Maester, giving her a pointed look to stay where she was. She rolled her eyes.

The Grand Maester looked at her, as always asking permission to place his hands upon her in such a way. She nodded, and he began lifting her light skirts to see her belly.

His hands were cool, as they usually were. She could feel him press here and there, and the customary frown on his face grew deeper and deeper. She sought Jon, and his hand grasped hers as time went by, and no words were said. The Grand Maester’s ear, filled with curly grey hair, pressed upon her stomach then.

“Hmm,” he said, and Dany looked down at him, frightened.

“Is...all well?”

He was quiet as he stood and went to retrieve something from a bag he always brought with him. A string, long and marked with lines, was pressed upon her stomach. It was something he had done a week before. He made his typical mutterings again, and she felt herself losing patience as he consulted a parchment in which he had written figures.

“Grand Maester?”

He looked down at her belly for a long moment, before he cleared his throat and turned to her and Jon. She felt herself unconsciously squeezing her husband’s hand.

“Your Grace...for some time now I have been suspicious of your extreme symptoms and behavior. While you are with child, and that it is typical of most women, yours seemed much more exaggerated than a woman carrying a single child.”

She stared at him, not understanding.

“You see, Your Grace...I have been trying to discern the causes of these problems to no avail. I had inklings...that it was possible. But I needed more time to observe the changes as the pregnancy progressed. You are now well over your fifth moon, and you have grown larger than most women at this stage of pregnancy.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Jon asked suddenly, and she could hear the dread in his voice. She saw the signs all too easily that he was going to soon have an episode, and cursed that Spirit was outside, being trained and socialized with the other pups and dogs by the kennelmaster.

The Grand Maester must have sensed something or heard something as well, for he was quickly soothing Jon’s fears. Her own fear was squashed in the wake of Jon’s, and she felt that fluttery feeling in her stomach, for she knew that she loved him so to forget her own woes.

 “Nothing is wrong with our queen, Your Grace. She is just in a unique state." The Grand Maester then looked down at Dany, a hint of a smile on his wrinkled face. “Your Grace, I believe that you are carrying twins.”

She suddenly felt lightheaded. She blinked, tried to focus on the men beside her, heard their voices speaking, but did not understand their words. Thoughts swirled around in her head, and she pictured herself abruptly, sitting in this very bed, with two tiny babes nestled in her arms, suckling from her breasts. She looked down at them, but she could not see their faces. She just knew they were hers, and Jon’s, and felt wonder and joy spread through her whole body.

She knew that she was going to cry. She struggled to hold it back, and nearly choked when she asked Grand Maester Hyndyll to leave. He nodded, a small, indulgent smile on his lips, and left quickly, taking his bag of tools with him.

When she looked to Jon, his eyes were wide. She did not know if it was from shock or something else.

She began sobbing.

His arms were around her immediately, and she held onto him so tightly. She cried and cried, imagining those babes, imagining the birth and the pain that she would experience, the pain that she did not remember from when Rhaego had been born. She cried for the loss of her firstborn, and cried for the children that she was carrying. She knew that she would do anything for them, anything, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but them, and her, and Jon.

“I cannot go to Dragonstone. Nor should you. I want you here. Please stay.”

He let out a short laugh. She knew it was because he had not wanted either of them to go in the first place. “Missandei can go. She is capable.”

She nodded against his shoulder, and then squeezed him once more before they parted to stare at each other.

She felt a smile tug at her lips as she watched him. His face, often so passive or even dour, spread into a grin of its own.

“Twins,” she said, astonished.

“Twins,” he echoed, pressing his lips to hers.

 

Jon

 

Another moon flew by. Missandei took a ship from King's Landing to Dragonstone and returned with three eggs instead of two. Daenerys’ symptoms improved slightly, and she began attempting to govern her country once more, with the guidance of her council.

Despite her mending status, she often went to bed early and rose late. She began eating more, but would still have mood swings to the extreme. Jon did all that he could to ensure her comfort, and she thanked him both verbally and in other ways, when they laid in bed together, panting after their exertions from making love.

His wife had always been enthusiastic about sex before being pregnant, but now, it was all he could do to keep up with her appetites. She would often awaken him in the middle of the night, demanding his attention, and then in the morning, and always at night before they fell asleep.

“Jon...do you think that you could...again?”

He groaned.

She giggled as she snuggled up to him. “Poor man. I am being too demanding of you.”

He flung his arm up over his eyes, his chest still heaving. They were now very inventive in their positions because of her belly, but it did not deter her. He swore that she could not be any more contorted in some of the positions that he would put her in, but then she would prove him wrong. Sometimes he would outright laugh at her bizarre poses, but he had to admit, he had never been so sated in his life.

They held each other as they always did before they fell asleep, the sound of the small fire in the hearth soothing them into darkness. He was nearly asleep when he heard several small yips, and the bed beginning to shake.

“It’s your turn.”

She made a pathetic, sad noise. “But I’m sleepy. Please?”

He could not refuse her sweet plea. He pressed a kiss upon her forehead before he sat up and moved to the edge of the bed.

Three direwolves, in the awkward stages of losing their puppy fur, stood with their paws against the bed, wagging their tails.

He began lifting them upon the bed, one by one. It was a nightly ritual, one that he did not mind since they were still small. But he knew that it would be all too soon before they would be huge and unable to do this. _Well, maybe only one. Ghost did it on occasion._

He glanced over at the lone direwolf laying by the fire, and felt sadness.

Spirit climbed onto his typical spot, between Jon’s legs. It was the most awkward and uncomfortable thing in the world, having to sleep with his legs spread, but he could not force the direwolf to move. The one time he had, Spirit had looked at him with the most mournful eyes in existence, and Jon had nearly melted into a puddle. He, of course, did not admit this to his wife.

The other two nestled on either side of Daenerys’s belly. Her arms would often wrap around them, but she would only be able to stand lying on her back so long before she had to turn to her side. Jon would always smile with amusement to see a direwolf curled around her arse or belly.

She yawned and petted the direwolves for a few moments before she turned her head towards him, her eyes glinting in the near-darkness.

“Jon?” she said quietly, shifting slightly so that she was facing him. The direwolf on her right side wrapped around her stomach without so much as a whine, used to her movements.

“Hmm?” he murmured.

She was quiet for a bit, and he wondered what could possibly be on her mind to make her hesitate. She was always so sure of herself.

“Do you...do you think that it will be a problem that the direwolves won’t...won’t have that bond like you do? Like with Ghost and Spirit? To the babies, I mean.”

He frowned, looking at the two pups literally enveloping the rounded sides of his wife. “You mean you’re worried they won’t like the twins?”

She nodded, her hand absently stroking the one by her belly. “I’m not sure how it all works...it seems like they wouldn’t like the babes once they are born. They will be tiny, and then they will be small for so long, unable to communicate or anything...”

He chuckled as he realized her fears. “Daenerys...I think they already are bonded to our children. Look...”

His hand fell on top of hers, where it was resting on the back of one. “Every night they lay by your belly. They are protecting you, protecting what you are carrying inside you. They are smart...smarter than most men. I have no worries that there will be a problem. Our children will have guardians in a way that a sworn shield never could be. They will be raised alongside each other, and their bond will be unbreakable. Trust me, my love.”

He could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Our children will be so loved, Jon. So loved. It hurts my heart sometimes to think of it. By us, who lost so much as children...your mother, my parents. Growing up in ways that made us long for a missing love. They will have their direwolf’s, and then they will imprint onto the dragons we shall hatch...just like I did when my three eggs hatched. They will have Missandei, and Tyrion, and Jaime...and the people will adore them. I will make sure of it. They will have the brightest, most amazing future, Jon.”

He did not think it possible to love her any more than he already did, but in that moment, he was sure that his heart would explode. The future, something that he had never liked to think of before, seemed to be filled with only love and possibilities of greatness and happiness.

“We will see to it,” he said softly, pressing his lips to her forehead. She smiled sleepily, her eyes closing. The two unnamed direwolves snuggled in closer, and Jon watched as all three fell asleep.

_I will do everything in my power to see to it._

**Author’s Note** : Just out of curiosity, is anyone still reading this story that started at the beginning, or near the beginning? Who has been here a long time? Just wondering what your thoughts are vs the thoughts of the newer readers that so eloquently voiced their opinions last chapter XD


	48. Chapter 48

**Author’s Note :** What can I say? Bad, bad author! I had the worst writer’s block for this chapter...there was just something about it I couldn’t get past, and finally I forced myself to sit down and figure it out. 

 

I just moved across several states as well, and work has been the WORST EVER. My stress has been through the roof, and finishing this chapter feels great.

 

Thank you to my lovely beta and her awesome documents of travel times XD

 

* * *

 

 

Chapter Forty Eight

 

Queen in the North

 

They were within view of King's Landing within 23 days. It was a group of over one hundred—Unsullied that had been left behind by Jon, her own guards, advisors, and servants, then two dozen of Lady Margaery’s remaining party members and family. There were also many of her uncle’s own men as well.

Sansa stared at the sight of the Red Keep in the distance, ever growing.

She held held in the urge to gag. 

The smell, despite the cooler weather, was as familiar as ever. A combination of the polluted Blackwater Rush, human excrement, and trash. A decidedly foul combination.

“Tormund,” she said, smiling a bit wickedly at his gawking face. The older man had ridden back from the Dreadfort when she had written to her Lady Hand, and he had  _ demanded  _ to go with her. 

“Who else is going to protect her? Those green boys? I bet their cocks are the size of a willow switch! HAR!”

He looked at her after she called his name, but his mouth was still hanging open and she threw her head back and laughed. It was the first time she had laughed since she had left Winterfell.

She had spoken to everyone in her party both as a group and privately about the risks they were taking traveling to King's Landing. About the lies and intrigue and political madness that would surround each and every one of them from the moment they stepped through the gate until they left.

She had also told them that she hoped they would not be there longer than a sennight, as she did not want to be gone from her home any longer than necessary.

_ Too much to do. It has nothing to do with Jon. I will just keep telling myself that. _

“Everything will be fine, Sansa.”

She looked to her right at her Uncle Edmure and smiled kindly as his hand touched her shoulder gently. They had grown very close since they had departed Riverrun together. He was caring, always quick to smile and sometimes anger, and very protective of her. Their discussions of the past and future had given her so much hope. It emboldened her and made her feel stronger, just having him near. Maybe it was because he looked so much like her mother. Maybe it was because she had the power of Riverrun behind her. But maybe it was because she knew he would support her in all her endeavors.

_ I supported your brother. I will support you. Whatever you need, it will be yours. I will not make the same mistakes as I did with Robb. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, and Winterfell will have all the power and abilities of Riverrun behind it. _

She had felt warmed to her toes at his words, but worried about how her people would accept the south’s interference. They had already declared her queen in an attempt to stay as far as they could from them. 

_ I will be quick to remind them that Robb was crowned king of the Trident as well. _

Her stomach began cramping with nervousness the closer they made it to the keep. As it grew larger, she had to fight herself from shrinking in her saddle. Memories haunted her of this place...memories that she knew she would never be able to block from her mind. But she forced herself to sit upright, her chin high, as people pointed at her and gasped about the queen that had dared to come south.

She had feared a bad reception from the people in the city, but she was shocked to see the smallfolk waving and calling out to her. She had been known in the city, and she had been kind to the people, even though she had never been too interactive with them. 

But the best calls came to her companion, who had a smile on her face as she returned waves. She looked positively radiant as she did so.

“Lady Margaery!”

“Lady Margaery, kiss my baby!”

“Welcome back, Lady Margaery!”

Margaery had been truly adored by the people of the city, and Sansa remembered exactly why. She hoped to use the same methods in the north, where people were also needy, except it would not be for political reasons. It would be because she genuinely cared. She had never known if Lady Margaery truly did care for the people, but looking at her now, it seemed as if she did.

Her stomach was a knot by the time they reached the Red Keep, and she feared the reception. Would it be Jon? Dany? Anyone? Would they hate her, as she had so hated them when Jon had abandoned her, shunned her?

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. During her travels she’d had nothing but time to think of her actions. Weeks had passed, and while she still felt anger and betrayal from Jon, part of her acknowledged that she had been wrong for what she had done—putting him on the spot like she had when such a horrible thing had just happened to him and around him. She had a feeling that Jon had acted completely out of pain and fear, and maybe if given the chance, he would not have so  _ painfully _ told her that he did not love her. It hurt her to acknowledge these things, but she  _ herself _ had acted out of fear and desperation—she had been planning on telling him just that evening, and watching Jon nearly die, and then seeing people burning around her, all of their hard work collapsing around them...and then Jon, leaving...

_ Did I have another choice? _

She had dug within herself, into the deepest and darkest part of her soul, and knew things about herself that were wrong and not pure in the least. She knew that she was selfish, but a large part of her felt that she was entitled to that, after so many years of torture and denial and just...suffering. She had never been the same since losing Lady, and so shortly after that she had lost her father, then been beaten and abused by Joffrey for moons. She had lost her mother and Robb and essentially her whole life. She had been mentally and physically controlled by those around her, until she had thought she had been freed by Lord Baelish because of his love for her mother. For a short time it had been nearly perfect, with her hiding as Alayne, pretending to be his daughter. But something had slowly changed within her would-be father, and she had known it would not be long until he claimed her as his own. Marrying her cousin Robert, watching him die from poison, and then marrying Harrold—she had thought that maybe she would be safe. Harry had rutted her like an animal, but it was something she had dealt with, just to know she was safe.

But Petyr had watched her...ever lurking in the corners of the castle. He had controlled everything behind the scenes, his cronies ever enabling him to tighten his hold on the Vale. 

She had tried to warn Harry that Petyr was evil, but he had scoffed. Just moments after she had told him and he had walked out of their chamber, Petyr had been there, his hand around her throat. 

“I hear  _ everything _ , Sansa.  _ Everything.  _ Do not ever open your mouth again.”

Harry had died that night, from a “wilding raid”. Sansa knew it had been Petyr.

Her latest husband’s death left the Vale with no direct heir, legitimate anyway, and the Seven Kingdom’s had been in total disarray. Daenerys, newly crowned queen, gave the Vale to Petyr for the gold and men he had supplied for the war and for helping to pay off the crown’s debts. Someone, possibly Petyr, let it “slip” that she was really not his daughter, but Sansa Stark, potential heir to the Vale. It was all too easy for him to have the lords and ladies of the Vale accept her as the heir, and they were married not even a fortnight later.

She was under his complete control after that. At first, his...ministrations...to her body had not been too harsh. The pain had been tolerable. But he would see her tears, or hear her sobs afterward, when she tried to hide them alone in her room, and it angered him so. He became so filled with rage that he had beaten her, told her that her only usefulness was her name and her body, both of which he would take advantage of until she was either broken and accepted him, or no longer viable for his needs.

“ _ I had thought of you as a replica of your mother...but I deluded myself. You are nothing compared to her.” _

She quaked at the memories.

_ “Do you remember when I told you, ‘With my wits and Cat' _ _ s beauty, the world will be yours’? I was wrong. After all these years, I know this now.”  _

Rape and torture and denial had been all she had known for so long. Hidden away in the Vale, so secluded that not even the servants ever saw her except one—the girl that Sansa had watched Petyr fuck many times, laying right next to her. More than once they had held hands in solidarity, and Sansa had thought she had been a friend.

But she had been betrayed. Morella was nothing but another tool to control Sansa, and in the end, Sansa had killed her and Petyr, and escaped.

_ To Jon. _

Her travels to King's Landing had been one of the hardest things she had ever done, giving her body away to a stranger for his food and shelter, then him dying while having his way with her. 

But she had made it to King's Landing, to her cousin, to Jon—broken, but alive.

Her years of suffering had made her who she was today. Even now she drew in a shuddering breath, and she knew that she could not take back what she had said to Jon, or how she felt. She just knew that she could try to move past it, grow from it, and understand that Jon would never be hers. She could only try to mend the damage that had been done, and try to rebuild what had been destroyed. 

_ Even if it means losing everything that I have gained... _

She was surprised to see Tyrion just leaving the gates of the Red Keep to meet with her entourage. They had sent ahead no rider, as they did not want any kind of special reception. They just wanted to be done with this trip and to return home.

She doubted that Daenerys or Jon would capture her or harm her in any way, but she was worried about what would be said or done. She had waited two moons before coming to King's Landing, and she was sure that Daenerys would not be happy about it. 

“Your Grace, welcome back to King's Landing. And Lord Edmure. A surprise, indeed.”

She was stunned that she was acknowledged by her title. She knew it had been a very common thing for titles to be denied for other kings and queens, such as during the War of the Five Kings. Robb had never been called king in the Red Keep. She would be beaten every time someone would call her brother king. 

She swallowed and sought to distract herself from the memories.

She caught Tyrion looking through her party to see if there were any other powerful men with her. She nearly laughed aloud. She knew that Jon and Dany were more than likely threatened by her potential power. With connections to nearly every kingdom, she could be a force to be reckoned with. 

That was not her intention—it was why she had even hesitated to bring her uncle.

“Lord Tyrion. My party and I thank you for receiving us. We have had a long journey. Perhaps we could have bread and salt, and retire shortly before meeting with the king and queen?”

The dwarf nodded, and the next hour was a blur. Together they broke bread, and were then escorted to the suites that would hold her party. Rehhi, her cherished Dothraki friend, began filling her armoire with her dresses and then helped her bathe and prepare for the reception that would undoubtedly occur in the throne room. Two other women prepared possible dresses, underthings, perfumes, oils, items for her hair, and jewelry.

It was vitally important how she presented herself and her people during this meeting. It could mean the difference between war, being allies, or neutrality. It could mean life or death.

_ Love or hate. _

After a bath to remove the dirt and stink from the road, Rehhi adorned several places of her body with scented oils and then sprayed her with a light, flowery perfume. She dressed in the underclothes that she had worn while in King's Landing, as it was warmer here than in the north. She stared at the various dresses at her disposal, and decided on one that would represent a mixture of the north and the south. She did not want to insult either place, and favoring either or would only cause her trouble.

Her gown was grey, trimmed in white fur around the wrists and neckline, which was lower than she preferred, but was the style in the south. The lines and cuts of the gown were more severe than the north would like, but she felt the style also fit the southern culture. The silvery silk of her gown shimmered in the right light, but was not overbearing. 

Rehhi placed tiny pearls in her ears from the sea at White Harbor, and the grey moonstone necklace that Jon had given her before she had been reintroduced to high society so long ago was set around her long neck. And finally, upon her head, her Dothraki friend nestled a delicate crown of northern silver and white sapphires mined from beyond the fallen Wall. When upon her head, it looked like icicles falling upon her softly curled red locks.

When she gazed at herself in the mirror, she drew in a deep breath. She had always been told she was beautiful, but it had taken her so long after her trials with Petyr to be able to look at herself in the mirror and see it. Now, she stared at herself with disbelief. 

“You look like a queen of ice, Your Grace,” Lady Annette said, one of her ladies that had come to her from a minor house in the north, hoping to become a lady in waiting to procure a husband. 

_ “Lain,” _ Rehhi said, and Sansa smiled, as it was a word that Rehhi said frequently around her, meaning beautiful. 

“Thank you, ladies,” she said, gazing at all three women, watching them grin back at her.

An escort of eight Unsullied met her and many of her party outside of her chambers. Her Uncle Edmure led her on his arm with his chest puffed with pride as she was brought to the throne room. She could hear the low talk inside the enormous chamber even through the doors. She turned to Tormund on her left, and his firm look bellied the importance of this moment. He was almost never serious, and she swallowed as she looked at her uncle. He nodded and released her, allowing her to make her entrance on her own, as a queen and unimpeded by anyone. 

The doors were swung open wide.

The smell of the  _ south _ hit her nostrils. Sweat, perfume, and a general thickness to the air that was not pleasant. The fires burning along the towering pillars covered some of the scent, but it could not be completely masked. Jon had always complained of the smell and how he missed the smell of the north: trees, water, and fresh air.

It was at that moment that she lifted her gaze, and her eyes collided with Jon’s.

She trembled as she fought to keep eye contact with him. In the end she looked away, and saw many changes to the throne room.

Daenerys no longer sat upon a massive throne of swords. The Iron Throne was no longer a single entity.

Jon and Daenerys sat upon two thrones, both of which looked to have been remade from the original. They sat side by side, in chairs that were identical.

_ They are ruling together. _

It warmed her to her toes. Jon had been meant to be the queen’s consort, but it looked like there had been some alterations to the regime.

_ I hope that it bodes well for me. _

There were murmurs and gasps as she walked by, and when she stopped before the thrones, she looked at Missandei, Tyrion, Daenerys, and finally, again at Jon. Behind her, her Uncle Edmure and those of his party knelt. Her party did not.

“You are standing in the presence of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and the Mother of Dragons. Beside her rules her king, Jon of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, King of Meereen, Protector of the Realm, Lord Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Friend of the Free Folk, the Reborn and Unburnt, Prince Who was Promised, the Slayer of the Night King, and the Wielder of Lightbringer.”

_ King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, hmm? _

She felt her chin tilt upwards just the slightest bit as Tormund, her lord of the Dreadfort, stepped forward to announce her, as planned. His voice boomed deeply through the chamber. She felt it resonate to her core, and she felt herself stand taller.

“Before you stands Sansa of House Stark, Second of Her Name, Queen in the North and Lady of Winterfell.”

Short and simple, something the north would not scoff at with disgust. She had to fight the urge to smile.

It was quiet for too long after titles were announced. She had to fight the urge to fidget, and she could tell most people in the room were uncomfortable as well. Someone coughed in the back, and Daenerys shifted her hand to her very round belly.

Sansa’s eyes widened at the unexpected sight. The southron queen was dressed in black and red, and her belly had been hidden well behind a cloak settled around her shoulders. Sansa would not have noticed without her hand moving there.

“I see congratulations are in order, Your Grace,” she said, and could no longer hide the smile that tugged at her lips. She knew that Daenerys had been despondent over never having children, had even seen the queen cry over it with the fear of never providing an heir for the Targaryen line. It had been many moons ago, but she could still see herself and Missandei standing over Daenerys, comforting her after her moon’s blood had come unexpectedly.

“I give you my thanks, Queen Sansa. It has been the greatest of blessings ever bestowed upon me. I could never ask for a greater gift than what King Jon has provided me.”

There were a few chuckles from the court. Sansa knew that Dany had specifically mentioned Jon as the father for a reason. More than likely there were rumors that the child was not his.

She also did not miss that she was addressed as queen before all. She felt the hair on her arms stand on end. She glanced at Jon, saw him smile faintly, and felt the iron grip around her heart loosen just slightly. She did not realize how hard it had been to breathe until that moment, when she suddenly, finally, could.

Daenerys stood then, and her great belly was very pronounced. Sansa had to keep her jaw from dropping at the sheer size of her, as she knew she must be due at any time. She tried to think, tried to remember the last time Jon and Dany had been together, and knew exactly when it had been.

The night she had heard them making love at Dragonstone. When she had seen them together, when she had finally realized that love making did not have to be painful or horrible.

When she had fallen in love with Jon.

Daenerys must have gotten with child during Jon’s short presence there. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to contain her emotions. The vice grip around her heart wanted to tighten again, but she fought it.

_ No. _

“Let us adjourn. Court is dismissed until tomorrow. Thank you for your time, lords and ladies.”

A resounding “Your Grace” echoed in the room, and Sansa watched as Jon stood and Dany leaned towards him for support. The effortless way that his arm went around her, helping her stand, made her feel simultaneously uncomfortable and warm at his caring.

Sansa looked behind her to see the concerned looks of her uncle and many others. She nodded towards them, and they left reluctantly.

When the room was empty but that of the queen, Jon, and a few Queensguard, Sansa stood stiffly as Daenerys shifted away from Jon and waddled towards her. She had no idea what to expect. She certainly did not expect the sweet embrace from the southern queen.

Sansa felt total and utter disbelief. Her arms made their way around Daenerys of their own accord. The tiny woman held her tightly, her belly pressed into Sansa, and suddenly, somehow, Sansa was crying.

She did not know where it came from. Moons of pent up emotion—rage, depression, hate—it all came pouring out of her. Thoughts of being a queen, of being a strong woman, all came crashing down in the wake of Dany’s hold. It was not another queen that was embracing her, but her friend, the one that she had been so close to and had cherished as she had learned to become a person again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against the silvery strands nestled by Daenerys’s ear. She did not know what she was sorry for exactly, just that she was. Sorry for this whole situation, for everything.

Dany’s hold tightened briefly before she let go. They stared at each other, Sansa looking down into the purple eyes of the heavily pregnant woman before her. They were crinkled at the corners, and a bright smile lit up her face. Sansa smiled in return.

“Let us retire to my chambers to talk. It is difficult for me to stand very long, as you can see.”

Jon was suddenly there, offering his arm for support to his queen. He looked at Sansa briefly, but his eyes quickly flitted away. She did not know how to feel. She just wanted this whole thing to be over with...

When they made it to Jon’s chambers, Dany sat down with a relieved sigh at a table that already had select morsels for her to snack on, which she took advantage of. Sansa was offered wine by a young girl, and then Dany dismissed her. 

The three of them were alone, not even an Unsullied or Ser Barristan were present.

They were quiet for too long, all sitting around the circular table. Sansa could not quite look at either of them, but she felt Daenerys’ gaze. It took all of her willpower to look up at the other queen, and then her eyes flitted over to Jon. She was not expecting him to be looking at her, and his grey eyes hurt to gaze upon.

He looked different. She had grown accustomed to his northern look of longer hair and beard, which were now shorter. He had been buried under furs and leathers, and now he was attired in black and red, his only adornment was his sword at his side.

Dany’s face was thinner, her cheeks faintly hollow, her skin very pale. She looked strained in a way that worried Sansa. Her belly was enormous, but the rest of her looked too lean. 

She wondered how she looked to the pair. Was she any different? The same?

Almost as if hearing her thoughts, Dany answered. “You look beautiful, Sansa.”

Sansa could not help the blush that overtook her. “Thank you,” she said, conscious of the fact that Daenerys had used her name but not her title. They were on a first name basis. It boded well. “You look very pregnant,” Sansa said in return, and Daenerys’ eyes widened with shock before she tilted her head back and laughed. The tinkling sound brought a smile to Jon’s mouth, and Sansa knew that things were going well.

It went quiet again, and Sansa knew she had to speak. She had to be the first one to bring this whole...situation...up.

“I am sorry that it took so long to answer your raven,” Sansa began, wanting to begin some kind of conversation. She saw that she had the attention of them both, and folded her hands together on her lap to keep herself from fidgeting, an unladylike quality that she had struggled with in recent years. “Things were just so busy at Winterfell, so many hungry people, so many without shelter or clothes. The state of affairs left by Ramsay were far worse than we knew.”

“What did you do with him?”

She looked at Jon, startled at his sudden, harsh words. She felt like she had not heard his voice in years. “Ramsay?”

He nodded, his face firm, anger clear in his eyes.  _ Does he regret not being there? _

Her lips thinned as she remembered the end of Ramsay, the man that had plagued the north for years.

“I took his head.”

She saw the anger in Jon’s eyes lift, and felt relief. Undoubtedly Jon had thought of it many times over the last two moons—wondering what had happened to the man that had killed thousands of northern men and women, the man who had refused to join Jon and Dany beyond the Wall to fight the Night King.

She saw that he wanted to say something, but was unsure of himself. She decided it would benefit them all to speak of what had happened.

“We discovered all of Highgarden’s men slaughtered in the traditional Bolton fashion in front of Winterfell. It destroyed poor Lady Margaery. She wanted vengeance, but we tested the waters for weeks before the battle began.” Both Targaryen monarchs were leaning forward, and Sansa knew that they both needed to know what happened.

“The battle was swift and very one-sided, thanks to Lord Reed. Lady Mormont had met with him moons before traveling to White Harbor, and Lord Reed had traveled to Winterfell, where he prepared for the siege in secret. His men lived in underground tunnels they had dug, and when battle came upon them, they popped out of holes and shot hundreds of Ramsay’s men with poisoned darts. It was mass hysteria coupled with my larger army and their disorganization. Winterfell had been starving for moons, and combined with our short siege, the men were malnourished and weak. It was over very quickly.” She drew in a deep breath, remembering the scene when she had first entered her home. “Winterfell was nearly deserted except for a few men and women that managed to escape Ramsay’s final killing spree. He knew that he could not escape, that it was the end, and tried to take everyone he could with him. He even took the maester and many children.”

Dany’s sharp intake of breath matched Jon’s hand suddenly fisting.

“When he was found, he was squealing like a pig. He screeched and cried and begged. He was a pathetic, hideous little man, and I took his life without hesitation.”

Jon nodded, his expression fierce. She knew that he wanted to say something, but he looked unsure if it would be the right thing to say, or appropriate. 

“Lady Margaery’s cousin was discovered nearly mad. She was raped repeatedly, beaten, and starved. We brought her south with us, and we are hoping that with the help of a maester, she may return to normal. Since the moment I removed Ramsay’s head, I have been swamped with trying to take care of Winterfell, the north, and her people. I...”

She stopped, unsure of how to proceed. They were both watching her, eyes wide, and she drew in a deep breath, trying to gather strength to say what needed to be said.

“Rickon was to be made Lord of Winterfell. But—but something happened, and even now it all seems like a blur. He said he did not want it, did not want to be lord, that I was deserving of it all after everything that I had—had done, and gone through, just everything. And Lady Mormont...she made some grand speech about me and what I had done, and the anger...the anger was so great over Jon leaving, and what Drogon had done, killing over a thousand men...suddenly they were shouting queen in the north. I...I knew that I could not decline it.”

Dany’s eyes closed, and she saw Jon’s hand tighten over his wife’s. 

“I know that I have betrayed you, Daenerys. You were kind to me, and in the end, I took something that was yours. I cannot ask for forgiveness. All I can do is offer to return it.”

Dany’s eyes snapped open. In them Sansa saw a mixture of anger and surprise. They blazed brightly, and color bloomed on her hollow cheeks.

The queen stood, her great belly protruding.

“No.”

Sansa frowned and shook her head shortly in disbelief. “No?”

Dany’s hands pressed hard into the table as she leaned forward, her face stern. “You did what anyone would have done, Sansa. The north is the kingdom that has been hurt the most in all of these wars. The people have been whittled down to nearly nothing and they needed a strength that they could rely on, that they could choose. I do not blame you for accepting the crown...and while I was angry for a long time, I am no longer. Jon has told me what had transpired. What Drogon did. What you said.”

Sansa’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the large chamber. Her eyes moved to look at Jon, and he stared back at her, unflinching.

“I—”

"I had at one time entertained the thought of Jon marrying you, Sansa. To have you become his second wife in order to help further the Targaryen line, since I could not. But in the end, it seems that it probably is not necessary. I am pregnant with twins."

Sansa felt her chest nearly cave in and vomit reached the back of her throat. Too many painful words had been said in those few sentences, and her brain fought to process them.

_ I could have become Jon’s bride if Daenerys had not become pregnant that night... _

_ I would have been naught but a broodmare... _

_ Pregnant, with twins... _

She tried to keep herself from gasping for air, but failed. Instead she stood and fled several steps away, her hands clasping at her heart.

It felt like it was being broken all over again.

Tears leaked from her eyes of their own accord, and she dashed them away angrily.  __

_ A queen does not cry in front of others. _

She stiffened her back and sucked in a huge lungful of air, holding it for several moments, forcing herself to calm. 

“I see,” she said, turning around and walking back to the table as if nothing had just transpired. Undoubtedly they knew she had cried, as her face always turned red when she did so, even if it was just a few tears. They did not say anything however, as they were too polite.

“I have a proposal for you, Queen Sansa. One that will fix most of the hurts that have transpired in these few moons.”

Sansa looked up at Daenerys, and listened carefully.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa left King's Landing the next morning. With her she brought her people, her pride, and her crown.

The kiss that Jon pressed upon her forehead was bittersweet and painful, but they held each other tightly, and she knew that she could never truly hate him for what had happened. 

Nor could she ever stop truly loving him.

He knew that, and so did Daenerys—but all three of them knew that Sansa was strong enough to overcome it for the future.

Sansa left with an agreement tucked carefully amongst her belongings, signed by all three of them:

 

_ The Accords for the Reunification of the Seven Kingdoms _

_ Presently, the kingdoms are split as one and six—the Kingdom of the North and the Six Kingdoms. The Northern Kingdom will henceforth be ruled by Queen Sansa Stark, and the Six Kingdoms will henceforth be ruled by Queen Daenerys Targaryen and King Jon Targaryen. _

 

_ The kingdoms shall remain as such until they are reunited—by marriage only. Until an heir of marriageable age is presented from both sides and their marriage consummated, these kingdoms shall remain separate entities but allies. _

 

_ Upon the marriage of the heirs of both kingdoms, the Kingdom of the North shall be reunited with the Six Kingdoms, and will be then known once more as the Seven Kingdoms. _

 

_ The King or Queen of the North will no longer be known as such, but will be able to retain the title of Prince or Princess of the North, as will subsequent children produced by the Lord or Lady of Winterfell. _

 

_ These Accords cannot be broken for any reason unless agreed upon by both kingdoms. It does not expire unless the bloodline of either Stark or Targaryen becomes obsolete.  _

 

_ Let it be known that the Seven Kingdoms will be reunited upon the marriage of both kingdoms, and greatness shall reign supreme as Stark and Targaryen blood weds. _

 

_ Signed by their Graces: _

_ Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Six Kingdoms _

_ Jon Targaryen, King of the Six Kingdoms _

_ Sansa Stark, Queen in the North _

 

_ Witnessed By: _

_ Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King and Queen _

_ Missandei, Mistress of Whispers _

_ Tormund Giantsbane, Lord of the Dreadfort _

_ Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun  _

  
  


Sansa turned to look back at the Red Keep behind her, and hoped that she would not see this place again for a very, very long time.

  
  


* * *

 

**Author’s Note** : This is the end for Sansa. I hope that I resolved much of what her storyline involved, and what I didn’t, I hope it is open enough for you to use your imagination and creativity. If you want to know what happens to her later in life, leave a review and maybe I can concoct something quickly :P

 

The last chapter, the epilogue, is going to conclude Jon and Dany’s story. It has a lot to cover so it will be significantly long, and quite epic if I do say so myself. 


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